Sunrise, Sunset
by balthezarian
Summary: A series of short stories revolving around Vegeta's relationships with his children.
1. Baby Blue

Author's Note: Yes, I know, I have other stories that I really should be finishing before I start yet _another_ one, but I just can't seem to help myself. Inspiration struck! It's not my fault! Blame inspiration!

So, this story, which starts 2 days after Bra is born and jumps around with time, is essentially a bunch of short stories about Vegeta's relationship with his children. And for those of you wondering, the title is taken from _Fiddler on the Roof._

/\/\/\

Trunks peered into the crib, needing to hover to get his chin over the bars. "Are you a hundred percent sure that Mom didn't just clone herself?" the ten year old questioned, raising an eyebrow at the child below him.

"No," his father replied. "Ninety-eight percent. Knowing your mother, there's always a chance that something odd is actually going on."

Trunks looked up at his father and smirked. "Yeah, I guess with Mom you can never be too sure. And I, personally, think she looks _way_ too much like a clone for coincidence." He shrugged one shoulder before hopping down, opting to look through the bars at his baby sister. "I guess I'll have faith in Mom and believe that she actually had a baby the old fashioned way. Either way, the kid's been born and Mom's mood swings will stop."

When he heard his father snort, Trunks shot the man a horrified look. "They _will_ stop now, right?" he asked, terror in his voice.

"Hardly," Vegeta said. "We've got at least two more months before that woman even _begins_ to act sane again."

Trunks groaned before he turned to look at his sister again. "Can I live with Goten until then?"

"The hell you will," Vegeta countered. "I am not dealing with your post-partum mother and screaming infant sister alone while you play Kakarot's clone."

The ten year old huffed as he sat on the floor, crossing his legs and resting his chin in one of his hands. "You suck," he pouted.

"Duly noted," his father replied with a smirk. "But you know damn well your mother would have a fit if her 'precious baby boy' wasn't around to witness the 'miracle' that is your sister's first month of life."

Trunks snorted, turning toward the wall. "Puh-_lease_ tell me that you guys did not make this much of a fuss about _me_ when _I_ was a baby. That would just have been embarrassing."

Vegeta's smirk disappeared, a solemn look coming upon his handsome face. Trunks had not received such adoration in his infancy, by _either _parent, and especially by himself. Bulma had been busy trying to make up for work she had lost during her pregnancy, leaving the boy in her mother's care. As for Vegeta himself…

The Prince of Saiyans had not intended to become a parent. Ever. Trunks had been the result of boredom, frustration, and hormones on both his parents' parts. And when his son was born, he had handled it badly. Regardless of what he had said, it was not that he thought that the boy was a worthless half-breed. Nor was it that he thought that he was a useless whelp. No, it had been much more than that.

Vegeta's entire life, until Trunks was a few months old, was nothing more than pain, violence, and hatred. There was no love in his heart, no compassion for anyone. Not even Bulma had truly touched him.

It was his son that started his real change.

His initial decision had been to push the boy away. He had not intended to stay on the Earth, and even if he had, he had not wanted the boy's love. Love was a weakness, love was a flaw. Love was an unreal emotion that creatures around the universe claimed faith in, but only until it betrayed them in the end. And Vegeta knew that if the boy gave him love, he would be the one to betray his faith. He knew he would be the one to teach the boy the true meaning of hatred.

And the thought that Vegeta could make his son as bitter, scornful, isolated, and miserable as he was, was more than he could stand.

So he had ignored the boy, blocked him out of his life entirely. Even the future version of his son, who had fought so hard to be in his father's heart, had barely managed to get direct interaction with him.

Watching Mirai Trunks die had made something inside Vegeta snap. It was a moment that replayed in his mind over and over and over again, and still haunted him. Knowing that all his son had wanted was _acknowledgement_, and that he had died without it, burned Vegeta in a way he had never been hurt before.

After all was done and over with involving Cell, though, Vegeta did not dive in to become father of the year. If anything, he pushed the boy even further away. He was convinced, after meeting Mirai Trunks, that if his son were in any way close to his father, it would only cause the boy's destruction.

Trunks was two years old before Vegeta started vaguely interacting with the boy, and even that had been fairly distant. When the boy was four, Vegeta deemed him old enough to start training. Oddly enough, Bulma had not discouraged it at all.

For years, it was the only activity that father and son did with each other.

If Vegeta were truly honest with himself, it had only been in the last few years that the two of them had formed a real relationship with each other.

"Well," Trunks said, stretching out as he interrupted is father's thoughts, "I think I'm gonna duck out of here before it starts screaming again."

"She," Vegeta corrected.

Trunks popped an eyebrow at his father. "What?"

"Not 'it', 'she'."

Trunks just shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever. 'The Little Bundle of Joy' has a scream that puts Mom and Aunty Chi-Chi to shame, and I do not want to be here when it…_she_…starts going it again." The boy shook his head as he got to his feet and made his way for the door. "Why you and Mom wanted to go through this again is beyond me. The screaming, the crying, the vomiting, the diapers…it's been two days and _I'm_ sick of it. How you're going to deal with this for the next few years…" That was the last thing the boy said as he left the room

Vegeta approached the crib and leaned on it as he gazed down on his daughter. Trunks was right, the girl was a perfect clone of her mother. Vegeta couldn't help but wonder if it was some sort of freakish Saiyan gene trend. The second born child always seemed to be the spitting image of the parent whose gender they matched. Goten was identical to Kakarot, who was identical to Bardock. Raditz and Gohan, both firstborns, had been a perfect mixture of their parents. Even in his own family, Trunks had been a perfect blend of both himself and Bulma. Every feature that boy had could be pinpointed on one parent or the other, but the number of traits each parent got seemed perfectly split. Bra, on the other hand, was her mother's clone.

The prince suddenly felt his blood chill slightly in his veins as a thought struck him. He, personally, was almost a mirror image of his father. Significantly shorter due to the brutality of Frieza, but otherwise identical.

Could _he_ have been a second born?

Vegeta shook his head, clearing his thoughts. There was no point in obsessing over such a thought. There was no way to ever find the answer, so why worry?

The prince smirked down at his sleeping daughter. "I really have changed, haven't I?" he whispered. He slid his hand in to the crib and graced his daughter's face with his finger. "Of course, you don't know that, do you? You only met me two days ago. You have no idea how much of an ass I am." He chuckled as his daughter's eyes opened. "I will try to keep you from finding out as long as I can, princess. It should last…two months, tops."

"I say it goes for at least three," Bulma said, yawning as she entered the room.

Vegeta glanced at his wife. "You should be resting, woman," he softly said. "Your body has not yet healed."

Bulma chuckled as she tied off her robe and approached her husband, kissing him on the cheek. "Vegeta, I was on bed rest for the last month of the pregnancy. I need to move a little bit. Don't worry, sweetheart, it's not like I'm leaving the house."

The prince grunted softly, turning his gaze back to their daughter. "You should still be in bed, Bulma."

The heiress smiled softly as she nuzzled against her husband's neck. She loved it when he used her actual name. He only used it on the rare occasion that he was feeling sentimental. "Just give me a few minutes, honey. I promise, I'll let you know if I feel weak at all, and I'll go right to bed."

Vegeta gave no reply, continuing to stroke the baby girl's cheek. He found his mind wandering back to a train of thought that had been constantly playing since he found out that he would have a daughter. _What do you do with a girl? Will I be able to train her? Will I even want to train her? What happens when she hits puberty? What will happen when she wants to start dating? Would I even let her date? How old would she have to be before I even consider it?_

_What if she hates me?_

"She won't hate you, Vegeta," the heiress said, again nuzzling his neck.

Vegeta turned and tried to glare at his wife. "Stay out of my head, woman."

Bulma just laughed as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "You're the one with the telepathic abilities, buddy boy," she giggled. "No matter how hard I try, I can only get in when you let me."

Letting out a huff, the prince turned back to the crib. "How do you know that, woman?" he asked. "How can you know that she will not hate me?"

"Trunks doesn't hate you," she pointed out.

"Through freak chance," Vegeta countered. "That boy has had every reason in the world to hate me."

Bulma shook her head. "No, he doesn't," she pushed back. "Maybe you weren't there for him when he was a baby, but you have been a very real part of his life for several years now. He loves you, Vegeta, because you are his dad. Not just his father, but his dad. You listen to him when he talks about what he and Goten spent all day doing. You let him train in the gravity room, even though it means that you have to hold back on your own training. You keep him from flying through the walls when he gets sugared up and rough houses with Goten. You correct him when he makes mistakes, and you do it in a reasonable manner. When he needs to be yelled at, you yell at him, and when he just needs a quick scolding, you just give him a smack on the back of the head and tell him not to do that again." She stood upright and smiled brightly at her husband. "You are a good dad, Vegeta. And I know that Bra is going to love you just as much as Trunks does."

The prince looked at his wife, his face completely blank. "You should be resting, Bulma," he whispered.

Bulma nodded. She kissed her husband on the cheek again, smiling brightly. "Okay, honey. Bring her to me if she starts crying, she'll probably be hungry."

Vegeta nodded back as he watched his wife leave the room. He turned yet again to stare at the wide eyed child by his side. "I cannot promise you that I will always make the right decision by you, princess," he whispered. "But I can promise you that I will always try, and that I will have your best interest in mind."

Bra stared up at her father, and showed him a big, beautiful smile.

And Vegeta smiled back.


	2. Chapter 2

Trunks slammed the door as he came inside his house. "School sucks!" he shouted, dropping his backpack in the entry way and storming up to his room.

Bulma and Vegeta, who had been in the kitchen, exchanged a glance with each other. "You go, woman," Vegeta said. His voice seemed to indicate that the very notion of him going to speak with Trunks over the topic was absurd.

The heiress glared at him. "He's a twelve year old boy, Vegeta. He is not going to want to talk to his mommy. You go."

"I never went through this planet's ridiculous version of an education system," the prince countered. "I likely won't even know what he's bitching about. You go."

"I have a meeting in an hour and can't guarantee that I'll be able to stay through a whole conversation, leading to further emotional scarring," Bulma fought back. "You go."

"He has us for parents, I think we can already consider him emotionally scarred," her husband pointed out. "You go."

"We're trying to limit the amount of emotional scarring we're going to put that boy through," Bulma shot back. "You go."

"If we're trying to limit emotionally scarring someone, then I am the last person in the galaxy you want having a 'talk' with them," Vegeta pointed out. "You go."

Bulma pushed her chair out, slowly got to her feet, and leaned across the table to look her husband in the eye. "You know that thing you always wanted to get me to do?" she huskily purred, enjoying as she watched her husband nod. "If you go deal with this, _well_, right now, I'll do it without any restrictions or hesitations." She leaned just a little further, allowing her to nibble softly on his ear. "You go."

Vegeta got to his feet. "I'm going," he mumbled as he left the room.

Bulma sat back down, leaned back in her chair, and put her hands behind her head, a smug look on her face. "Game, set, and match."

"Only game and set!" her husband's voice called from another room.

Bulma only smiled more.

/\/\/\

Vegeta stood outside of his son's room, wondering what the hell the first step was. Should he respect the boy's need for boundaries and knock first, or should he assert his power as the father and just go in? Should he let the boy talk when he was ready to, or should he force him to get his problems off his chest immediately? Should he lie and tell his son that even though school seems to suck it's still necessary, or should he be honest and point out that between Trunks' intelligence and inheritance, it really was a waste of time?

"Crap," he muttered, knocking on the boy's door.

"GO AWAY!" the twelve year old screamed.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. _Oh, this is going to be fun_, he thought, knocking again.

"SERIOUSLY, MOM, GO AWAY!" Trunks shouted again.

"She's not out here," Vegeta said as calmly as he could. "She's not even on this floor. Now open the damn door."

Total silence filled the area as Trunks debated internally. He really wanted to be left alone, but telling his dad to go away was yet to actually result in the man leaving. After almost a minute and a half, Trunks reluctantly unlocked his door. He didn't open it, but he did make it so his father wouldn't have to break it down again.

Vegeta quietly and calmly walked in, closed the door behind him, and leaned up against it. "Why does it suck?" he asked.

His son raised an eyebrow. "Why would you care?"

The elder prince shrugged a shoulder. "Look, you're in a pissy mood and you couldn't even tell the difference between my energy and your mother's. That means either something is wrong or you're pathetic. Now, since no son of mine is that pathetic, it leads me to believe that something is wrong. You know I'm not patient, boy, so just tell me what the hell is going on."

Trunks flopped down on his bed, laying down and putting his arm over his eyes. "You wouldn't understand," he said.

"Probably not," Vegeta agreed. "But I'm not leaving until you tell me. And remember, boy, I always know when you're lying."

"Yeah, yeah, 'cause you're the prince of the Saiyans, and you're so great, and blah blah blah."

Vegeta glared at his son. In one fluid motion, he had hooked his foot behind the boy's back, hoisted the boy off the bed, and had him pressed against the wall. "That was your one and only freebie," he said, his voice eerily calm. "The next time you insult me, there will be real consequences." He dropped his son back on the bed, grabbed a chair, and sat on it. "Now cough it up."

Trunks glared at his father. He had not appreciated being pushed against the wall, but he had known he was walking into dangerous territory by saying what he said. "Why are you even pretending to care about this?" he shot back. "We both know that if it doesn't involve training with me, you probably aren't really paying attention to what I'm doing!"

"Watch it, boy," Vegeta growled. "You used up your one free shot already."

The twelve year old exhaled angrily, but held his angry words designed for his father in. But he was in too much of a temper to just stay quiet.

"You really want to know why I hate going to school?" he challenged. When his father nodded, Trunks crossed his arms over his chest. "I hate school because it just reminds me more and more of the fact that I don't belong there. I hate it because the other kids eat less for lunch than I do for a light snack, so I always end up starving at the end of the day to keep them from calling me a freak even more. I hate it because when the other kids want to play sports, I have to lie to them about what I can and can't do. I hate the fact that when someone insults me or my family, I can't take a swing at them, because if I do, I'll _kill_ them! I hate it because I already know everything that my teachers are trying to teach me, so I don't pay attention and then get detention. I hate it because all the kids try to suck up to me because they know I have the world's largest trust fund just waiting for me to turn eighteen. And most of all, I hate it because every time I go there, I get to think about how I get to spend the rest of my life lying about who and what I am, because the people on this planet are so damn closed minded that if they found out, it could destroy everything. So there! That's what's bothering me! Pick your favorite!"

Vegeta sat there quietly for a moment, processing what his son had said. "I'm sorry," he finally responded.

Trunks had not been expecting that at all. He blinked in surprise as he looked at his father. "What?" he whispered.

"I'm not saying it again," Vegeta said, looking his son in the eye. "It is the only time, for the rest of your life, that I will even vaguely reference the concept that the genes you got from me could, in any possible way, be a hindrance. However, ever since you were an infant, your mother and I knew that this would happen. We're actually surprised it took this long."

"What are you talking about, Dad?" Trunks asked.

Vegeta sighed, keeping his eyes locked on his son's. "You are an extraordinary young man, Trunks. And you were destined to grow up and become the greatest force this planet has ever reckoned with. You have what humans would deem to be an obscene amount of physical power, courtesy of me, and more financial and political strength than any other person has ever been born into, courtesy of your mother. That, alone, meant your childhood was going to suck."

"Thanks, Dad, that's really reassuring," the twelve year old sarcastically responded.

"Shut up, boy," Vegeta simply responded. "You have no idea how lucky you are."

Trunks rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know, power, privilege, the whole shebang. Damn I'm lucky."

"I meant that you have your family and Goten."

Trunks blinked in surprise again. He knew he was probably going to end up with a lecture about how important family was if he complained, but he never expected it to come from his father. He shifted uncomfortably under his father's gaze.

"You really don't understand how lucky you are," Vegeta repeated. "I have no bloody idea what your mother's domestic situation was like when she was your age, but I can tell you that mine was…not as comfortable as yours."

Trunks froze completely. His dad never opened up about his past, and the twelve year old did not want to risk saying anything that could ruin this opportunity.

"Don't get your hopes up," Vegeta shot to his son. "You're not getting that much. All I'm going to tell you is that I have been all over the universe, and that having a unit of people that look out for each other's wellbeing, indiscriminately, is a scenario that is virtually nonexistent out there. They will sell each other out in the end. Sometimes to save their own lives, sometimes for something as meaningless as an ornamental display, but out in space, there is no trust. But here…here, we have been able to raise you safely, and you know that your mother and I will stand by you no matter what happens. You have been sheltered on this planet, boy. And for that, I am grateful."

The twelve year old looked at his hands. "I know you guys are there for me," he quietly said. "But that doesn't make this any easier for me. I'm still an outcast, and I'm always going to be one."

"And that's why you are lucky to have Goten," Vegeta pointed out. "Honestly, your mother and I had would have had no idea what to do with you if Kakarot hadn't had another brat for you to terrorize us with."

Trunks laughed. "We weren't that bad!"

"Need I remind you of the television incident?" Vegeta asked with a smirk.

The boy laughed even harder. "Okay, okay! I get it! I'm lucky to have my family, I'm lucky to have my friend, and I am _so_ lucky that you didn't kill us for throwing Mom's brand new, handmade, super wonderful TV through the wall in what might have been the dumbest game of catch ever." His laughter died down, though, and a serious expression crossed his face again. "But I don't want to go back to school, Dad. I'm a freak there."

Vegeta nodded, listening to his son's concerns. "I will discuss it with your mother," he assured. "Perhaps we will be able to do what we did up through last year."

Trunks smiled at his dad. "I'd like that," he admitted. "I really want to go back to home schooling."

"I am not promising anything, boy," his father said, getting to his feet. "Now do your damn homework."

Trunks nodded. "Hey, Dad?" he called out.

"Hn?"

"Thanks for listening to me."

Vegeta nodded once before he quietly left the room. He stalled for a moment, making sure that he could hear his son actually working, before heading down the hall. "That wasn't too bad," he admitted to himself. "Probably shouldn't tell the woman, though. I can use this to get what I want. Speaking of which…"


	3. Tactics

"I cannot believe we are doing this," the fourteen year old heir grumbled under his breath.

"Just shut up, boy," his father growled back. "If you know what is best for you, you will keep your mouth shut."

Trunks shot a glare at his father, but knew better than to talk back to the man. It could not possibly end in his favor, and almost certainly would end in him being grounded and with at least one broken bone. Shifting his weight from his right foot to his left, the teenager settled on scowling like his father.

Vegeta crossed his arms and stared straight ahead. "What is the first rule I taught you?" he demanded.

"Know what your enemy _can_ do, what your enemy _wants_ to do, and what your enemy _intends_ to do," Trunks responded, shifting his weight again.

The elder prince nodded, knowing that his son was not watching. "Assess your current situation," he commanded, not bothering to shift the location of his gaze.

Trunks was tempted to let out and exasperated sigh, but a quick glance in his father's direction reminded of him of exactly why he should keep all of his smart ass reactions to himself. "I am in unfamiliar territory, putting me at a distinct disadvantage against my opponent. However, it is a _type_ of environment that I am not entirely unfamiliar with. My enemy has a poorly plotted battle strategy, making up each step as it comes up. Said opponent seems to be showing no signs of logic in decision making here, reacting instead to a strange emotional response it seems to be getting from signs in the terrain. My enemy is capable of dealing a great deal of long term damage to me, and if this particular enemy decides to do so, can and will destroy the rest of my life."

"Your enemy's intentions?" the father demanded.

Trunks' next words left his lips before he even really thought about it. "Beats the hell out of me, Dad."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at his son, and Trunks was more than slightly surprised when instead of a tongue lashing, his father simply gave him an amused smirk. "And what do you plan to do in this situation?" he went on. "How would you defeat your enemy?"

The teenager's eyebrows came together as he sincerely thought about it. "This enemy cannot be defeated with a physical attack, so alternative means need to be used. There is also no way to use its pattern against it, as my enemy, as stated, is showing no real pattern." Trunks drew a steady breath as he continued to think about his situation. "Subject seems to be reacting almost strictly to various images in the terrain. My best bet is to use that weakness to my advantage. Use the terrain to distract my enemy, and try to disappear before it finds out what I'm trying to do."

"You are correct. That is, in short term, your best option," the father concurred. "However, your enemy will eventually catch you. What will you do then?"

Trunks squared his shoulders and faced his father head on. "I will look my enemy square in the eye and smile as my punishment is brought down on me. And then, I will be a dead man."

Vegeta nodded. "As long as you accept your inevitable fate with that course of action."

"I do," Trunks said, his voice calm and level.

"Very well," his father replied. "Prepare your next step, then, boy."

Trunks blinked at his father. "Are you serious?" he asked.

Vegeta just nodded again. "Completely."

The teenaged boy gulped and shifted his weight for a third time. "Okay, Dad. Do you know how much time I have for this?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," the father casually replied.

Trunks gazed at his surroundings. Slowly and meticulously, the teenager calculated his options and every potential outcome. Softly, he bit down on his lower lip and drew a deep breath. Taking one final sweep of the area with his eyes, he sent a mildly frustrated look in his father's direction.

"Seriously, Dad, you can't even guess how much longer Mom's going to be in the shoe store?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "I already told you, boy, your guess is as good as mine! That damn woman could spend the next week in there, staring at every little detail of every little thing, or she could come out in the next three seconds because she's suddenly decided that the damn things aren't worthy of her!"

Trunks shoved his hands into his pockets and sulked. "I still cannot believe that she made us go to the fu…" A quick glare from his father got Trunks to quickly change his choice of words. "..damn mall in this damn city in this damn country. I mean, it took us two damn hours to even get here because she wouldn't even let _us_ fly here. And I swear, there is nothing special about this mall! It's got the same damn stores as all the ones we have at home! It's like we're prisoners here!"

The father took two slow, methodical steps toward his son. "So what, boy, do you plan to do about it?"

The teenager crossed his arms and stood up straight. Reared up to full height, he was actually an inch taller than his father, but he was never dumb enough to say it out loud. "Solution C," he said in a firm voice.

Vegeta solemnly nodded his head. "Very well. We will do Solution C."

Trunks lost his firm stance and stared wide eyed at his father. "We?" he whispered. "You…you'll do this with me?"

Vegeta sighed. "Either I do it with you, or I bring you down as fast and as hard as I can. And on this one occasion, I would rather help you in the training exercise, rather than being an obstacle."

"Dad…Dad, I…"

"So help me boy," Vegeta said, holding up a finger in warning, "if you get sentimental on me, I will become your obstacle, I will destroy your plans, I will bring you down harder than ever before, and then you will be grounded for two weeks."

"Yes, sir!" the teenager responded with a smile and a salute. With a grin on his face, he spotted his potential weapon. "Okay, I think I know how I'm going to pull it off."

"You better," his father replied under his breath. "Your target is coming straight for us, and will be here in a matter of seconds."

Trunks' head snapped to the side, and, sure enough, his mother was emerging from the shoe store. Her arms were almost overflowing with filled bags. "Oh, you boys don't know what you're missing when you stand out here!" the heiress giggled. "Their selection was incredible! Oh, and I found the perfect pair for me! They have these adorable little straps that will criss-cross over my ankles, and then the straps wrap around my lower calf twice. They were so amazing that I bought a pair in every color that they had!"

With a soft grunt, she dropped the bags at her feet. Bulma groaned as she rolled her neck, softly rubbing out her knots. "Okie dokie, fellas, you know the drill. Pick 'em up and follow me!"

As Vegeta began cursing under his breath, Bulma began waving her finger. "Ah-ah, sweetie, you know the rule. Suck it up for the afternoon, or I make my mother stop cooking for a month and reprogram the gravity room to do whatever the hell I want it to."

Only a month earlier, Vegeta would have challenged the woman to do her worst.

That was before the "It's a Small World" incident…

"I still don't know what we're doing here, woman," the prince grumbled. "We're just capsulizing them anyway. _You_ could have done that!"

The heiress stuck out her lower lip in a mock pout. "I just wanted to spend some quality time with my family," she responded.

"I agree with Dad," Trunks said with a glance in his mother's direction. "There is no logical reason for either of us to be here. You flew here on your jet, which doesn't require us. You came to shop, which _definitely_ does not involve either of us. And, since we have these lovely little things known as _capsules,_ you don't need us here to carry large bags for you. Plus, you don't actually talk _to_ us when you shop. You talk _at_ us."

Bulma waived his comments off casually as she turned around to pursue her next target. "Oh, you know that's not true, Trunks," she calmly replied.

"Yes, it is!" the boy shot back. "You're not talking about TV or movies or fighting. You're not talking about _anything_ that we actually like! You only talk about what stores you've been to, what stores you're going to go to, and what you will and will not buy in each of them."

Again, Bulma simply dismissed her son's concerns. "You make it sound so much worse than it actually is."

Trunks rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, Mom, because Dad and I _really_ care about the fact that Nordstrom's is having a store wide fifty percent off sale."

The blue haired beauty whipped to the side, looking for the store her son had mentioned. "_Really_?" she excitedly cried out.

The next thing she knew, Bulma's hair was blowing in her face, and a soft click sounded at her feet. Stunned, she looked around and realized that she was standing completely alone in the mall. Lying at her feet was her husband's cell phone, along with a pile of capsules, with the top one clearly marked as her jet.

Bulma's eyes narrowed dangerously as she looked at a slightly opened skylight. "Oh, those two are _so_ dead…"

Several minutes later, Trunks and Vegeta landed on the roof of their home. "That was awesome!" Trunks laughed. "She never saw us before we got away!"

"You do realize that she has figured out what we've done by now," the elder prince pointed out.

Trunks just smirked up at his father. "Yeah, I know, we're dead men. But I will look my enemy in the eye when my judgment time comes, and I will let my executioner know, before I die, that I am Trunks, Prince of the Saiyans, heir to the throne of an empire of the greatest warriors the universe will ever know."

Vegeta looked down at his son, and he felt a hint of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

"Come," he calmly said, patting his son on the shoulder, "let's see if your grandmother will cook us our last meal…"


	4. Left Alone

Author's Note: I have had the next few chapters of this story in the "Almost Finished" list for so long, I actually had forgotten that I started them. Plus, actually going to my computer for the purpose of updating has been number two on my "To Do" list for a week, but stuff kept coming up to take the number one slot. It's been a crazy week…stupid mice…

Anyway, a thousand thank you's to all of you who have taken the time to review. I thank you for your praise, your critiques, and, most of all, for understanding that as this is a work of fanfiction, there are going to be a few creative liberties taken. All who have made commentary on the plot have done so with an open mind, and I truly thank you for that.

/\/\/\

"Are you completely mad, woman?" Vegeta shouted at his wife, his anger at the situation more than evident.

But Bulma simply shrugged his aggression off. "Not yet," she calmly replied, "but if you keep putting up a fuss, I bet I could get there if I had to." Coyly, she winked at him as she added, "Good thing I know I don't have to."

The Saiyan snorted at his wife's response. It was one thing when she decided to yell and scream and threaten him to get her way. But he just could not tolerate her when she was cool, collected, and in control. It aggravated him to no end.

"You have tried this before," he angrily pointed out, "and as I recall, it did not turn out well."

"Your problem, not mine," Bulma simply said, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. "Besides, would you rather stay here with Bra or take Trunks to the dentist?"

Vegeta had to actually stop and think about that for a moment. While staying home with the two year old was more than he thought he could deal with again, he remembered what had happened the last time they had taken the boy in to get his teeth cleaned. Apparently, he did not do well when people tried to pry his mouth open and shove their fingers inside.

That poor hygienist never saw those teeth coming…

Meanwhile, Bulma had begun to tap her foot in impatience. "I'm waaaaaaiiiiiting," she sang, picking at her nails.

Vegeta turned his gaze toward the stairs that led to the bedrooms. "How long has the brat been out?" he asked.

"Twenty seven minutes," the heiress responded after a quick look at her watch. "And if you don't give me an answer in the next twenty seven seconds, I'm going to make you take Trunks to the dentist _with_ Bra as I get a pedicure!"

While normally the prince would have scoffed at the very notion of being forced to do something like that, he didn't dare challenge her. She seemed to have that aura about her that she always had right before she managed to get him to do something he would _never_ willingly agree to.

"If you don't have all ten fingers when you get back, I get to kill the boy," Vegeta grunted.

Bulma kissed him on the cheek. "Fair enough," she said, adjusting her purse. "We should only be gone for an hour or so, and if you're lucky, Bra will be asleep the whole time." She stopped for a moment, and gave her husband a downright wicked look. "Of course, if last time was any indication of your luck…"

"Just go," Vegeta groaned. He did not need her to remind him what had happened the last time he had been left alone with their young daughter. He grunted as his wife gave him one last kiss before leaving, and didn't bother to say goodbye. If she thought she was going to get more than a grunt from him at that moment, she had another thing coming.

Standing firmly in his spot, he waited until he was absolutely certain that his wife and his son were on the other side of the city before going up the stairs. The prince wound his way through the corridors until he came to his daughter's room. Slowly, without making a sound, he opened the door and slid in.

Just as he had suspected, Bra was wide awake and standing in her crib. It was obvious that she had been awaiting her father's arrival.

Vegeta walked up to the crib and looked down at his little girl. Trunks had been permanently freed of that contraption at a much younger age, but he had always been a peaceful sleeper. Once he was out, he didn't move a muscle. Bra, on the other hand, moved around in her sleep so much she might as well have been sparring. Because of that, and the fact that she woke up, crying, every time she had flopped out of her bed, she had been put back in the crib until another solution could be figured out.

"Your idiot mother has done it again," he bluntly told the child. "She has left a helpless child in the hands of someone who has, at no point in time, demonstrated any ability whatsoever to deal with said child." He leaned in close, touching his nose to hers. "Your mother really is an idiot."

Bra giggled and clapped her hands together twice before reaching up for her daddy's cheeks. "Up! Up!" she cried, smiling at her father.

But Vegeta removed her hands from his face and took a large step back from her crib. "No," he stated, crossing his arms.

Bra's eyes grew wide. Her vocabulary wasn't enormous, but she had mastered _that_ word a long time ago. "No?" she asked.

"No," her father repeated, not flinching from his spot.

"No?" she asked again, tears brimming in her eyes.

But Vegeta could not be swayed by those tears. He knew them too well. "No," he firmly said again. The Saiyan smirked down at his daughter, and refused to move a muscle.

Bra knew that look. It meant that she wasn't going to win with tears. Changing tactics, the barely two year old princess sat down and pouted. "No," she stated, just as her father had. Just for good measure, she crossed her arms the exact same way that he had his crossed.

Vegeta's smirk only got bigger. "We had a deal, Bra," he said. "When it is only you and me, there is one rule."

The toddler looked up for only a second before falling right back in to her pout. She was not going to lose this battle. Oh, no. Not this time!

"What was the rule, Bra?" the prince demanded.

Again, the young princess refused to budge.

Her father also refused to give in to this battle of wills. "Tell me the one rule and I will free you from your prison."

Blue eyes lit up, and the sulk was instantly forgotten. Bra scrambled to her feet and clawed at the bars, trying to gain balance on her surface of blankets and pillows. As soon as she found her balance, she looked eagerly up at her father. She held up her index finger to her lips, and quietly went, "Shh!"

The prince smirked down at his daughter and did the exact same motion. "Shh," he went, approaching the crib again. "That's right, princess. You stay nice and quiet, and I let you be free. Understood?"

With an energy unparalleled in the world, the toddler nodded to her father. And true to the agreement, she didn't utter a sound as she reached up once more, seeking her freedom from her cage.

Vegeta, true to his word, reached in and picked up the little girl. "Remember the deal," he restated. "You stay quiet, and I let you stay free. However, if you scream, you cry, you beg, you plead, you whine, you shout, you shriek, you holler, or you do anything else that causes noise to come out of you, and I am putting you right back in this pen. Do you understand?"

Bra just smiled at her father, and made a motion with her chubby little fingers that looked like she was zipping up her mouth.

"Good girl," the prince said, settling the girl on his hip. He looked down at the toddler in his arms. "To the living room?" he asked.

The little princess thought for a moment, then shook her head.

"The playroom, perhaps?" he asked, smiling at her as he reopened her door.

Again, the tiny toddler thought for a moment before shaking her head.

Vegeta smirked down at his daughter. "Then there's only one place you want to be. To the kitchen!"

Bra's eyes lit up, and she lightly clapped her hands together once. She beamed up at her prince before snuggling affectionately against his chest. Bra remembered how this game worked. She could go to and room she wanted, as long as she kept quiet. She had learned very quickly on the last attempt that even laughing got her dumped back in her barred prison.

The pureblooded Saiyan carried his daughter down the stairs, through the house, and to the kitchen. Normally he would have insisted that a child, especially _his_ child, walk under their own power. However, he was even hungrier than she was, and he was not about to have to pace himself to a two year old.

Besides, even though he would never admit it, he loved the way his daughter held on to him whenever he carried her.

As soon as their destination was reached, he dropped his daughter off on the kitchen table. He knew that Bulma would have a fit if she found out that he had just let her sit on the table and hadn't bothered with the highchair, but in his opinion, the child had been restrained long enough. Besides, neither he nor Bra would ever tell the woman, and he really didn't feel like forcing the kid into the thing anyway.

Vegeta pulled out a box of cereal from the cabinet, a tub of yogurt out of the refrigerator, and a bunch of grapes from the fruit bowl. In an extremely orderly fashion, he lined all three of them in front of the little girl. "Pick the two you want," he stated.

Bra looked quizzically up at her father and gave him a look that clearly showed that she wasn't sure what he was talking about.

The prince sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He really wished that she could understand everything he said. "Two," he repeated, holding up a matching number of fingers. "You get two."

That she understood. The little girl pulled herself closer to the three food items, not bothering to get to her feet. She picked each one up, poked around at them for a while, and carefully smelled them. After a couple of minutes, she pulled the cereal and the grapes toward herself and pushed the yogurt away. Gently, she rapped her hand against the table to let her father know that her choice had been made.

After father and daughter had their snack, the little girl hopped into her father's lap. Situating herself snuggly against his body, she wrapped one arm around his neck and pointed down the hallway with the other. Just as quietly, Vegeta complied. He followed the silent directions to the playroom, where the little girl hopped out of his arms just long enough to grab a teddy bear and a stuffed lion, and quickly hopped right back up.

Once again, Bra began to point her father down the hallways of the mansion. There were a few moments where her expression became a scowl, and Vegeta knew that it meant she had gone the wrong way. But his little princess never once made a noise about it. She just stuck out her lower lip and redirected them, trying again.

At long last, the two arrived at her chosen destination.

The Gravity Room.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at his second born child. "Are you sure you want to be _here_?" he asked the girl in his arms.

Stubbornly, she nodded, pointing aggressively toward the thick door. She adamantly indicated that it was, most definitely, where she wanted the two of them to be.

The prince was not entirely sure he understood why they were there. True, it was where _he_ wanted to be, but why on earth would she want to be there? As far as he knew, his princess had never set foot in the room before.

But a deal was a deal, so father and daughter went it. Bra immediately hopped out of her father's arms. She grabbed her two stuffed animals and faced them toward each other, standing them on their hind legs. She began to make the two of them move against each other. When she looked up at her father, and saw nothing but confusion on his face, she stuck out her lower lip. Very clearly, she pointed one hand to her father and the other toward the teddy bear. Then, after a second, she pointed one finger at herself and the other at the stuffed lion. She picked her animals up again and had them move toward each other again.

Realization suddenly dawned on Vegeta's features. "You want to train with me?"

Excitedly, Bra dropped her toys and jumped up and down, clapping her hands together. She knew her daddy could figure it out!

Vegeta couldn't help but smile at his little princess. He had given her the opportunity to do anything she wanted, and she wanted to train with him. Pride filled his chest as he nodded at his daughter.

For almost half an hour, Vegeta and Bra went over what truly were the most basic aspects of training. No energy beams were thrown, no gravity was engaged, no katas were performed…there hadn't even been a punch thrown. But given the time they had, and the age of the student, they two did make a fair amount of progress.

Mid lesson, Vegeta's head snapped to the side. "You mother is almost home," he stated, heading for the door. Bulma had said very clearly that he was not to take the toddler into that room, and Vegeta was not about to let her find out that he had broken what few rules had been put in place.

Instinctively, Bra knew what they had to do. She raced to her animals, grabbed them tightly to her chest, and jumped up into her father's arms. Vegeta got them both out of the room swiftly and locked it up tight. Using his impressive speed, he got the two of them up to her room and placed her back in her crib. Very quickly, Bra lay herself against her pillow and let her father drape one of her blankets over her small body. She snuggled against her animals and smiled up at her father.

As Vegeta turned to leave the room, Bra called out, "Daddy!"

The prince whipped around and looked at the little girl in the crib. She smiled brightly at him. Since she was back in the crib, she knew she could make noise again. And there was something that she had been waiting all day to say.

"I love you, Daddy."

Vegeta returned to her crib and smiled down at the little girl. Gently, he ran his finger down her cheek. "Thank you, princess," he softly answered. "Now close your eyes and wait for your mother."

Giggling, Bra burrowed under her blankets and snuggled into her pillow. This was her favorite part of their game.

Giving his daughter one last glance, Vegeta swiftly left the room. Sensing that his wife and son were pulling the car into the garage, he wasted no time getting to the living room. Quickly, he turned on the television and put his feet up as he found the news. He only had a few seconds to spare before the door came slamming open.

"…embarrassed in my life!" Bulma was shouting.

"Oh, so not true!" Trunks yelled back. "Krillen told me that you flashed Master Roshi once, and that _had_ to be more embarrassing than _this_!"

Mother and son came stomping into the room, shouting at the top of their lungs of the incident at the dentist.

"This is the last straw, Trunks!" Bulma screamed. "You're grounded for two weeks!" When Trunks only snorted, the mother took it further. "That's right, boy, two weeks of no TV, no computer, no video games, and _no Goten_!"

"WHAT?" Trunks hollered back. "You can't do that!"

Bulma whipped around and glared at her son. "I can and I will! I am your mother, Trunks! I brought you into this world, and I can take you back out of it!"

"NO YOU CAN'T!" the twelve year old shouted back before making a break for his room.

Bulma huffed as she heard her son's bedroom door slam shut. She was clearly agitated, if not pushed to the absolute limits of her sanity by whatever had happened while the boy was getting his teeth cleaned.

It was an opportunity that Vegeta just couldn't pass up.

"So," he casually said, putting his hands behind his head, "how did it go?"

The heiress whipped around, glaring at her husband. "How did it go?" she whispered in the brief calm before the storm. "HOW DID IT GO?!? I'll tell you how it went! First of all, we were fifteen minutes late because _your son_ decided to try to break out of the car and escape on the way there. I ended up swerving and getting into a fender bender when he used his damn _Saiyan strength_ to try to shove the door off! _Then_, when we _got_ there, he started ranting and raving about how the dentist was really there to _torture children_, which got _every_ kid in the room to start _screaming!_ And as if _that_ wasn't enough, that _brat_ of yours ripped the dental chair _out_ of the _floor_ and tried using it as a weapon against the dentist!" Angrily, she flopped down on the couch. "I swear, I am going to _kill_ that boy!"

Vegeta quietly kept his observation of their role reversal to himself. He liked to provoke her, but pointing out that she had become _him_ was just suicide. Quietly, he gave her a few minutes to cool off.

Soon enough, Bulma gave a long sigh. When it dawned on her that there were no signs of a two year old around, she got to her feet and prepared to check on her daughter. She turned back for a moment, and asked her husband, "So how was your afternoon with Bra?"

The prince just turned to his wife and smirked. "She didn't make a sound."

/\/\/\

Author's Notes: Again, many thanks to all of you who are being so supportive of this story!


	5. Fly Away

"Hey, Dad?" the teenaged prince called out, entering the doorway to the kitchen. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," Vegeta replied, opening up the refrigerator door.

Trunks blinked in surprise at the response. "Um, yeah. Anyway, there was something that I really, really wanted to ask you." He shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, not entirely sure how to bring the subject up. Deciding to just jump right in, he took a quick breath and spoke. "Is it true that when I was really little you disappeared to train in space for a really long time?"

The refrigerator door screeched as it was rendered off of its hinges.

"That's a definite yes," Trunks mumbled, staring at the door that was still firmly grasped in his father's hand. It was not the reaction he had been expecting, but at least he got an immediate answer to his question.

"Is there a particular reason you are asking this question?" Vegeta asked, his eyes unfocused and aimed straight forward and his back still facing his son. He had long ago admitted to himself and to Bulma that he had made a lot of mistakes when Trunks was an infant, but he had sincerely hoped that he would never have to tell the boy himself.

"Actually, there is," the teenager said, taking a hesitant step into the room. "I…I wanted to ask you something."

Vegeta finally dropped the appliance door and turned to face his son, steeling his resolve. "Then ask," he coolly stated. "Don't make me guess."

"Uh, right," the younger prince stammered, fighting the almost overwhelming urge to avert his gaze. "I was just thinking…actually, I was more so wondering…I was actually curious about…if it isn't too much trouble to you, of course…"

"Spit it out, boy!" Vegeta snapped.

Trunks swallowed hard. "Could you go on another one and take me with you?"

That was not at all the question that Vegeta had been ready for, but he sure as hell wasn't about to point out the questions he had been _expecting_. "You have not taken you training seriously in over a year," he calmly pointed out. "Why would you choose to isolate yourself from all of your friends and your entire life here on Earth for the express purpose of going through training session after hellish training session with me?"

This was the moment that the younger prince had been dreading. He had initially planned to lie to his father, to say that he just felt the overwhelming urge to fight and needed to satisfy his Saiyan side. He knew that it was what his father _wanted_ to hear, but he also knew that his father would never believe it. Not once in his life had he gotten away with lying to that man, even when the lie was twisted in his favor.

Trunks took a gulp as he pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket. "I just found out about this, and I just…I need to be gone for a while."

Vegeta took the slip of paper from his son and read it carefully, a curious look on his face. "You're joking, right?"

"No," Trunks said, his face completely serious. "I need to get out of here. Soon."

The elder prince handed the paper back to the teenager. "You can't seriously need _my_ protection from _this_."

"No, just an excuse to be somewhere other than the face of the Earth for a month or so," Trunks shot back, tucking the paper back into his pocket. "I don't need you to _protect_ me, I just thought that it could be fun to do something with you while I was gone instead of going alone!"

"Why not take your idiotic other half with you?" Vegeta responded. As secretly thrilled as he was that his son would actually choose training in space over 'exploring' with his best friend, Vegeta still held reservations.

Trunks' complexion paled slightly at the question. It was one that he should have expected. "I just…I didn't want…" When his father shot him another glare, the younger prince dug deep and found the courage to tell the truth. "It never crossed my mind to ask him, okay?" he finally shouted. "It never once dawned on me that I could ask Goten to come along! My first thought when I realized that I needed to get away for a while was to go to _you_!"

"Why?" Vegeta challenged.

"Because every time I've ever had a real problem in my life, _you've_ been the one that got me through it!" Trunks shouted back. "Mom took care of all of the small problems, but every time I got in _real_ trouble, you've always been the one that saved my ass! When I accidentally blew up the school gym, you told mom that you did it. When Goten and I stole the car and got arrested for reckless driving, you were the one that bailed us out in the middle of the night. When I was sneaking out to see that girl who ended up just being after my trust fund, you were the one who dragged me back and stopped me from ruining my life!"

Vegeta cleared his throat. "If I recall correctly, you were not pleased with me when I did that last one, nor were you all that thrilled when you were given your punishments for the first two."

"But that was what I needed!" Trunks yelled back. "Mom would have given me a lecture, turned on the water works, and a week later I would be doing something else stupid. And while you damn near _killed_ me in the Gravity Room for two months after every time I screwed up, I knew that there were _boundaries_. There were lines that I couldn't cross because of you, and that was exactly what I needed! You've been the one that kept me from going insane on this stupid, boring, idiotic planet, and I thought you could do that for me one more time!"

Again, Vegeta was not entirely sure how to handle this situation. The idea of having a serious training partner, if only for a month, was more than appealing to him. But he wanted to make sure that Trunks was serious about his offer.

"What bothers you so much about this that you feel the need to remove yourself from the planet entirely?" he calmly questioned.

Trunks shrugged his shoulders. "Look, I just know that if I stick around, I'm going to be more trouble than I'm worth," he answered. "I mean, the cameras, the reporters…Dad, I can't handle them in small doses. I'll explode if I have to handle them in large quantities!"

"What makes you so certain that they will be flocking to you?"

"Did you not read this?!?" the teenager practically screamed, pulling the paper back out of his pocket. "This is the biggest magazine in the world, and they just named me Bachelor of the Year! It says here, and I quote, "We deliberately postponed our annual Bachelor of the Year issue by two weeks to coincide with the birthday of this years winner, Trunks Briefs. After all, we had to wait until he was eighteen to be legal!" End quote. That means that not only am I going to get all the attention that _most_ guys get if they win this, I'm going to get _more_!"

Vegeta couldn't help the smirk on his features. "And this does not appeal to you?"

"I already get love letters from crazy women I've never met!" the poor seventeen year old shouted. "The press already has a field day if I wear socks that don't match my shoes! I have been Pretty Boy to the World since I hit puberty, and I can't stand it anymore! I need to get out, I need to move, and I need to be in a place where I can be myself without either being judged or stalked!"

The lavender haired prince took a moment to soothe his jangled nerves with a calming breath. "Dad, I need to just get away from all of this, and I need something to focus on. Going to space with you is, by far, the best solution. There are no reporters out there, no cameras, no one excited about every stupid thing I do. And above all that, I know that you'll keep me on my toes the entire time. When I train with you, I don't have time to dwell on stupid stuff like this. I can actually be myself, and…and I miss it. A lot."

Vegeta listened carefully to his son's tirade, careful not to speak until his was sure the boy was done. After a minute of silence between the two of them, he spoke. "Do you have any idea at all what kid of reaction your mother would have to this idea?"

"The kind that you usually get from her anyway?" Trunks guessed with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Worse," Vegeta countered. "Believe me boy, there are conniptions, and then there are _conniptions_. And you mother would certainly have the latter if I so much as suggest something like taking her firstborn child into space for training purposes. What could either of us say to her that would get her to not only consent, but to cover your ass and explain why you suddenly vanished to the press?"

Trunks looked around the room as he tried to think of a valid argument he could present to his mother. Despite the wild adventures she had spent the bulk of her youth embarking on, she had been surprisingly close minded about letting her children do any such thing. Pointing out that unlike her, they had super powers, had never helped. He had been twelve before his mother would even consent to letting him fly to Goten's on his own. "Father/son bonding time?" he pitched.

Vegeta glanced over his shoulder for a moment, looking in the direction of Bulma's labs before turning back to his son. "When were you hoping to leave by?"

"Um, tomorrow," Trunks said, caught off guard by the question.

"Then I suggest you pack quickly," his father answered with a smirk. "We leave in twenty four hours."

Trunks' eyes lit up. "Oh, Dad, thank you!" he exclaimed, opening up his arms.

Vegeta held up a finger in warning. "So help me, boy, if you hug me now then I will feed you to the wolves!"

The teenager immediately attached his arms to his sides, but his smile just could not diminish. "So, we're seriously going to do it?" he confirmed. "We're really going to train in space for a month?"

Vegeta had already turned toward the labs, so he had to look over his shoulder to look his son in the eye. "On the assumption that your mother does not murder me, then yes, we shall go," he calmly stated. Facing the direction of his destination, the prince squared his shoulders and marched on as though headed for battle.

Trunks knew that this was going to cause a fight between his parents. He knew that it cowardly to run away from his problems. He knew that he was about to spend a month or more having his ass handed to him continually by his father.

But in spite of all of this, he could not stop smiling. And deep down, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he was genuinely excited at the idea of training one on one with his father once again.

For no matter how much society had pressured him to deny it, Trunks was still the Prince of the Saiyans.

And he loved it.

/\/\/\


	6. Tea Party

Author's Note: Ack! I'm sorry for the delay! I kept swearing I was going to get right on it, and the next thing I knew it had been, like, a month!

Also, I would like to apologize for the note I left at the end of the last chapter. I let my insecurity get the better of me, and I whined about it to all of you. I really am sorry about that.

And now, for what you actually came for: the story!

/\/\/\

Vegeta massaged his neck as he rolled it from side to side. It almost seemed like a waste of time to have even started his training regimen that day. Two hours was hardly enough for a decent workout, and the machine would be down for the rest of the day.

It wasn't broken, but he was under oath to use it after seven in the morning that day. Bulma had another grand scheme in the works down in her labs, and that one would require all the power she could get her hands on. It had taken a long, hard battle, but she had finally convinced her husband that letting her steal his training room's power for the day was the right thing to do.

By which, of course, meant she had to release every threat and bribe in her arsenal.

Even though he had barely worked up a sweat during his brief time allotted in his room, Vegeta opted to take a shower. It was something that had to get done, and there was honestly nothing else he had to do.

He ate breakfast alone, which was odd. Usually, Bulma didn't head down into her labs until eight, and she insisted that the whole family was together for one meal a day whenever possible. They had tried to make dinner be that meal, but with the crazy schedules most of them had, it was soon realized that breakfast was the only option.

But that morning, Bulma was already hard at work in her lab, probably giggling at the idea of him putting his training on hold for her experiment. Trunks had once again gotten in trouble at school, but since he refused to miss his time with Goten, he had negotiated for a morning detention. And Bra was…

_Wait a minute, where the hell is Bra?_ Vegeta wondered, putting down his fork. She had no job, she didn't go to school, and he knew for a fact that she hadn't spent the night with Pan or Marron, so why wasn't she eating?

Focusing for a moment, Vegeta confirmed that she was still in her room. Her energy was high enough to signal she was awake, but just barely. _Probably still hiding under the covers and pretending that the sun isn't up yet._

It was almost nine when he finished cleaning up after his meal, and Vegeta wasn't entirely sure what to do for the rest of the day. During the bulk of most weekdays, Bulma worked, Trunks terrorized his school, Bra had a regular playgroup at Krillen's, and Vegeta trained. The concept of being alone and unable to train was almost surreal to him.

After a minute, he remembered that he wasn't alone. His daughter was still upstairs in her room.

_It's Thursday_, he thought. _Isn't she supposed to be at Baldie's place right now?_ Rolling his eyes, he assumed that his wife was so caught up in her new experiment to remember to drop her off. It was hardly the first time it had happened. For all her genius, Bulma was incredibly scatterbrained when it came to schedules.

Sighing, Vegeta ascended the staircase. He hated the days he ended up being the one to drop off or pick up his daughter. He loved his little girl, but he strongly disliked the 'small talk' that Krillen would always try to engage him in. Things were so much easier when they had all simply feared him and left him alone. He much preferred it when Eighteen took charge. No talking, no pleasantries, just say goodbye to your kid and leave.

Some days, though, he would never admit it to anyone, ever, Vegeta felt guilty when Bra went to her playgroup. It made the most sense for Krillen and Eighteen to watch the girls, since neither of them worked and things were usually quiet on the island. Gohan and Videl both had full time jobs and needed someone to watch Pan during the day, and Bra had pitched a temper tantrum of epic proportions when she found out that the other girls got to play together and she didn't. It was a joint decision to set up the arrangement, but that didn't stop the small twinge of guilt he felt when instead of playing with her himself, he sent her off to play with her friends.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he paused at his daughter's door. From the other side, he could hear her talking to someone. He knew she was alone in there, and assumed that she was playing with her dolls again.

The concept of 'playing with dolls' was certainly beyond him. It just seemed unnatural and wrong to have full fledged conversations and live out lifetimes with inanimate objects, and it was actually a little unnerving for him to watch her go through her almost ritualistic dance with them.

He didn't bother knocking on her door as he came in. "Bra…" he started.

But the five year old interrupted him. "Shh, Daddy," she quickly whispered. "It's Mr. Bunny's turn to talk right now." That said, the girl adjusted her seat. She was in a tiny plastic chair, seated at a tiny plastic square table. Around it were three other chairs, each with a stuffed animal propped up in it.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure what bothered him more, the fact that his daughter was talking to a toy or the fact that he had just been interrupted by one. "Bra, get your coat," he plainly stated. "It's time to get going."

"Daddy!" Bra gasped, clearly appalled. "I told you, it's not your turn! You have to wait for Mr. Bunny to finish!"

"Bra, I'm not asking, I'm telling you to…what are you doing?"

The blue haired girl stuck out her lower lip. "It's a tea party, Daddy," she stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Mr. Bunny," she said, pointing to a blue rabbit, "Mrs. Curly," she pointed to a doll with bright orange hair, "Mrs. Hippo," was a purple hippo, "and I are having a _tea_ _party_."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow. "This is not a tea party," he firmly stated.

A horrified look crossed Bra's face. "Yes it is!" she insisted.

"No, it's not," her father responded. "For one thing, you have no tea."

Bra let out an angry huff. "Mommy doesn't let me use the stove."

_And for good reason_, Vegeta thought. _When Trunks played with it at that age, we lost a quarter of the house between the fire from the stove and the fire from his attempt to stop it…_ "That's besides the point," he said. "You have no tea, it is not a tea party."

Adopting her father's trademark stance, Bra glared hard at the man. "Then make me some tea and I'll have a tea party," she shot back.

_Not bad for a five year old._ "That's hardly the only thing wrong with this," Vegeta snorted, pointing to her set up.

Dropping the attitude, Bra looked back at her party. "What's wrong with it?" she asked.

"You are a princess, Bra," Vegeta stated. "You are not to be outranked by some worthless toy."

"What?" the girl asked, clearly confused.

Kneeling next to the table, Vegeta rearranged the tea set on the table. "The most powerful person at any social gathering, the highest ranked one, always has the best."

Bra looked down and realized that her father had taken her cup, which had a peeling sticker and a small crack in it, and traded it with Mr. Bunny's still intact cup. "Oh," she said, giving it a blink. "I guess that makes sense." She looked down at the rest of her party. "Is the rest of it right?"

Vegeta stopped and thought for a minute. It had been a long time since he had been at a formal gathering involving such things. He avoided them on Earth with a fiery passion, not being able to tolerate the idiocy of the company. However, when he had been a small boy, he had been invited to several such gatherings with his parents.

"Your table is too small," he pointed out. "Never would one delegate sit so close to another that they would hit them during the meal."

"Delegate?" Bra asked.

The prince sighed. "Important person," he clarified.

"Oh," the girl answered, looking thoughtful. Glancing around the room, her eyes landed on her box of coloring supplies. She walked over to it and studied it carefully. Giving it a quick nod, she grabbed it, emptied it all over the floor, and turned it upside down. She pulled Mr. Bunny aside and put the box down before returning the toy at the other end. With a pleased smile on her face, she adjusted the other two toys, spreading them equally out. "Okay, Daddy, now they got space."

"They _have_ space," Vegeta corrected. "And yes, now they do."

With a self satisfied smile, Bra sat back down and picked up her teacup.

Vegeta watched his daughter with a careful eye. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Hesitating, with her cup still at her lips, Bra turned her eyes to her father. "Drinking my tea," she responded.

"Not like that," her father answered, rolling his eyes. "You're holding your cup wrong."

Confused, Bra lowered the cup. "What's wrong with the way I'm holding it?" she asked, more than a little confused.

"You don't use two hands when you are at a formal social function," he responded, acting like it was obvious. "You keep your dominant hand in your lap, and you use your weaker hand to hold the cup."

"My dominant hand?" Bra wondered out loud.

"The hand you write with, your stronger one," he stated. "In your case, your right hand would stay in your lap and your left hand would be lifting your cup." Gently, he guided her hands to the proper position. "This way, if an enemy were to attack, you would always have one hand at the ready."

It was Bra's turn to roll her eyes. "Daddy, enemies don't attack during tea parties."

"You don't know that," Vegeta countered. "I've seen many dignitaries attacked at what was meant to be a quiet, afternoon gathering. Enemies are expecting people to be ill prepared to defend themselves. It's actually a very common place to target someone."

Bra's eyes grew wide. "Really?"

"Really," he answered. "You need to always be aware of your surroundings, especially at something like this."

"Got it," Bra stated, bringing her teacup back up.

"Keep your elbow down," Vegeta corrected. "Don't leave yourself so exposed."

The little girl responded quickly, following her father's instructions. "Anything else?" she softly asked.

Moving directly behind her, Vegeta reached an arm around either side of his daughter and shifted the teapot to the side. "Always keep your acquaintances within clear view."

"Got it," she giggled.

A rapid thumping of feet was the only warning father and daughter got before Bra's bedroom door flew wide open. "Oh, Bra, I totally forgot!" Bulma cried rushing into the room. "I'm so sorry, baby!" The scientist began to tear through her daughter's room, gathering all the things she would need for her play date. "I told my staff to wait for me so I can drop you off with the other girls. Now, I know you like to bring your pink jacket, but Grandma hasn't finished fixing the tear in it, so you'll have to wear…"

It was at that moment that Bulma noticed that her daughter was not alone. Kneeling behind her, with his arms reaching out around her, was her husband. "Oh, Vegeta!" she said, blinking in surprise. "I was so panicked about forgetting Bra that I didn't even see you there!" Slowing down, she knelt down with her husband and her daughter. "What are you doing in here?"

With a giant grin on her face, Bra held up her teacup with one hand and hugged her father with the other. "Daddy's having a tea party with me!" she proudly announced.

To his credit, Vegeta didn't even flinch. He looked his mate in the eye and dared her to laugh.

And she did.

/\/\/\

Author's Note: Okay, it's shameless plug time.

I know this is an odd request, but please, if you have a minute, check out my profile. Some of my California friends are doing a walk for the cure for multiple sclerosis, and I put a link to their website on my profile page. I wish I could walk with them, but since I'm not in the same state and don't have, you know, time and money, I decided to help out another way.

Thanks, guys!


	7. Marriage

It had been such an ordinary day at first. He had gotten up, trained for a few hours, and was, at that moment, enjoying the tail end of his breakfast break. The food had long since been eaten, but the prince had decided to take a few minutes to relax with his last glass of orange juice. Bulma, several months pregnant, had gone out shopping with her mother and Chi-Chi on a "girl's only" trip. And for that, Vegeta was very grateful. He cared for his wife, but between his temper and her mood swings, it was a wonder that the compound was still standing.

Trunks had decided to sleep in that morning, and had very nearly missed out on the food. With Bunny out of the house, breakfast was served for one seating only, and Trunks had not been given enough warning to set his alarm. If his father had not been in what, for that man at least, was a good mood, the poor boy might have been forced to rely on his own extremely feeble cooking skills.

Father and son had eaten in silence, save the occasional request by Trunks to have something passed down to him. While the two were as close as ever, very few words were ever spoken by Saiyans during meal times.

And that was why the poor older prince was caught completely off guard when his son made an announcement.

"I'm going to marry Goten."

As soon as Vegeta heard those words, the glass in his hand shattered. Slowly, he turned his gaze to the ten year old. "What…"

"I'm going to marry Goten," the child said again, looking frustrated at the confusion.

Clearing his throat and fighting very, very hard to keep his temper in check, Vegeta closed his eyes and asked, "Aren't you too young to be considering a life mate?"

"I don't think so," came the very plain response.

Vegeta closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Trunks, why are you even thinking about this?"

The younger prince pulled out the kitchen chair, flipped it around, and sat backwards in it. "Well, is there anyone else in the world I could ever marry?"

"You're ten, how the hell should I know?" Vegeta snapped.

Trunks simply offered a mild shrug. "Okay, look. Gohan just got married, right?"

"Of course, to a woman who could be the clone of his mother," he sneered.

"Right," the boy answered, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, do you remember what Gohan was like when he first met Videl? He was always afraid that he was going to say something or do something that was going to give away…you know…our unique heritage."

It was Vegeta's turn to roll his eyes. Everyone could remember the painfully awkward ways that Gohan would try to keep the truth about his life from the rest of the world. That boy found a myriad of new ways to embarrass himself, and all for the sake of lying to the woman he was attracted to.

"It was, like, so embarrassing to watch him do that stuff," Trunks groaned. "And not just because he's the worst liar in the world. The worst part was that he _had_ to lie to her in the beginning."

The elder prince, having calmed down enough, got to his feet and grabbed a hand towel. As he began to clean up the spilled juice, he let out a cooling breath. "And why has this been on your mind, boy?"

Trunks suddenly found his fingernails very fascinating. "Well, you see, Dad…um…after Gohan and Videl got engaged, and I started thinking…"

"Spit it out, boy!" the father demanded.

Letting out a tired sigh, the ten year old boy placed his hands on the table. "I started thinking about how I'm not really going to have much of a choice in who I spend the rest of my life with."

Slowing down his movements, Vegeta glanced at his son. He and Bulma had discussed this possible problem before, but he had not considered that it would become an issue quite so soon. The elder prince decided that the best course of action was to find out what it was his son was thinking. After all, the boy was still a child, and might actually not be fully aware of the problem. "What, exactly, makes you think that your options will be limited?"

"Well, first of all, there's that little fact that I'm not entirely human," the boy pointed out. "I mean, I can fly, I can lift trucks without trying, I can fly faster than the fastest rockets this planet has to offer, and when I'm either really mad or really excited, I go Super Saiyan. I mean, I'm too strong for a human _normally_, let alone when I go Super."

"And what, boy, do you mean by, 'too strong' for a human?" the father asked.

A brilliant splash of red painted the ten year olds cheeks. "Well, when you get married to someone, you have to, um…you have to kiss and stuff, and sometimes do…other stuff that you and Mom won't tell me about."

_Not yet,_ Vegeta thought, _but I have a sinking feeling that __**that**__ conversation is going to happen soon…_

"Anyway, I sometimes have a hard time making sure I don't hurt Mom and Grandma and Grandpa when I give them hugs," the younger prince pointed out. "How am I going to be able to kiss and what I can only imagine is wrestling with them if they aren't also part Saiyan without hurting them?"

Vegeta nodded slightly, picking up the glass shards. It was a problem that he was intimately familiar with. "Any other reasons?"

"The fear factor," Trunks answered, suddenly looking up at his father. "People are afraid of what they don't know, and with the exception of they guys we already hang out with, humans don't know about the things we can do." Sneering slightly, Trunks went on. "Gohan had to lie to Videl for weeks before he was _forced_ to tell her about what he really was. And we both know he would have kept hiding even longer if there was any way he could."

"Kakarot's oldest brat is a coward," Vegeta pointed out. "If he had any courage at all, he would have shown the girl the truth soon after he had met her."

Trunks snickered. Just like his father, he had thought that Gohan was an idiot for pretending to be not only a human, but a weak one at that. "Yeah, I know. I still don't understand why he let her dad take all the credit for that Cell thing."

"A mystery for the ages," Vegeta replied with a smirk, making sure that all of the glass had been collected. After all, he would never hear the end of it if Bulma came home, took off her shoes, and stepped in it. "Is that all that is bothering you?"

"Well, then comes the fact that I'm rich and famous," Trunks growled, getting to his feet and throwing his arms up in the air in frustration. "I mean, no one out there would ever actually give a damn about _me_. I mean, why would they when I've got the largest trust fund in the world? That's right, they wouldn't! They would think, 'Ooh, think of all the things I can buy with his money!'. Or maybe they're not shallow enough to care only about the money. They might actually care about the political power and celebrity status that comes with being a member of this family instead."

The boy's father raised an eyebrow as he deposited the glass in the trash can. "You know you sound as cynical as I do, right?" he commented, getting another glass out of the cabinet.

Trunks snorted softly. "Well, let's just say that the older I get, the more I understand your dislike of humans."

"Careful, boy," Vegeta cautioned. "Your mother is a human, and a damn good one at that."

The younger prince wanted to make a smarmy comment, but knew better than to push it. "Well, I'm still going to marry Goten," he announced.

Remembering where the conversation started, Vegeta cracked his new glass. Thankfully, it didn't shatter this time. "Right," he muttered. He turned back around and looked at his ten year old son. "But why him?"

"Well, he's perfect," Trunks pointed out. "He's half Saiyan, so I don't have to worry about hurting him. He already knows all about the powers and the group, because he's a part of the group and has the same powers. I know he won't come after me for my money, because Goten is one of the only people in the world who honestly has no interest in money. And best of all, I already like spending all my time with him. See? He's perfect!"

_Don't explode, don't explode, don't explode, don't explode…_ "Trunks, do you even know why people get married?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "Because they really like hanging out with each other and make a good team," he answered.

Vegeta blinked as he tried to gather his thoughts. "You do realize, boy, that there is more to it than that."

"Like what?" he genuinely asked. "Why did you and Mom get married?"

_Oh, this just keeps getting better and better…_ "Your mother and I had a very atypical relationship," he answered. "We are not necessarily the model to go by."

"Atypical?"

"Unusual, not standard," Vegeta clarified. "Regardless of which word you use, my relationship with your mother is hardly one that would suit most people."

Trunks rolled his eyes. "Well, whether you guys are 'normal' or not, it works for you," he pointed out. "Where else am I going to find someone that will work with me?"

"What about the daughter of the munchkin and the toaster?" Vegeta asked.

"Marron?" Trunks asked, sneering slightly. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life with a girl!"

At that moment, Vegeta wasn't sure if he was relieved or was going to have a stroke. _Dende bless his immaturity_, he silently prayed. "You may change your mind when you get older."

Trunks glared at his father. "And what if I don't?"

Very, very slowly, Vegeta sat back down and looked his son in the eye. "You may, and you may not," he said, attempting to be calm. "We will cross that bridge when it arrives. For now, though, just accept that you are too young to know."

"And if I still want to marry Goten?" the boy dared to ask.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Vegeta steadied his nerves. "I suppose you could do worse," he finally answered.

Trunks' face lit up. "Really?"

"Assuming you're willing to drop this conversation right now, then yes," Vegeta answered.

"Thanks!" The young prince began to leave the room, but he stopped at the doorway. "Hey, Dad?" he asked.

"Hn?"

"Where, exactly, do babies come from?"

The glass finally shattered.


	8. Help

A retreat. That's what the woman had been calling it before she left, right? Yes, that's what it was. A retreat. For two weeks, she was going to be in the middle of nowhere, with no phones, no computer, no communication with anyone other than the seventeen scientists she was with. He had fought long and hard against it, insisted that it was dangerous and stupid to be that isolated, to at least sneak in some means of communicating with him.

"No," she had said. "I'm going to play by their rules."

Twenty-five years he had known her, and never once before had she gone by 'the rules'. She had always loved to be the rebel. Cheating was a source of entertainment, and she always had an ace up her sleeve. So when she said she wasn't bringing her ace this time, he had been less than thrilled. In fact, he had been down right mad. It was negligent and irresponsible, he had said, to be that isolated without a way for him to talk to her.

"And that," she had said with a laugh, "is my rebellion against you and our children."

She had said that three days ago, just before she had left. At first, he had been angry. Then he had found the note on their bed reassuring him that, should something terrible happen, he would easily be able to sense her, fly to her, and it would still be faster than calling him.

But then _this _had happened.

Placing his forehead against the doorframe, Vegeta out a tired sigh. "I swear," he muttered, "when that woman gets back, I am going to murder her."

Trunks walked into the kitchen, and came to an abrupt halt when he saw his father's stance. "Which one of them did what?" he hesitantly asked.

The elder prince glared at his son. "Shouldn't you be in class right now?" he growled.

"Nope," the lavender topped young man answered. "I got my thesis in already, and I arranged to take my finals a week early." He shivered slightly as a memory crossed his mind. "You know that I can't stand the stampede of people that come by during finals week. I'd rather give up my own free time than deal with thousands of panicking humans." Shaking it off, he looked back at his father. "So, to sum up, I'm done with classes. Now what did who do?"

"Your evil mother has signed her death warrant, that's what she did," the pureblood growled.

Trunks raised a purple eyebrow. "I thought Mom was gone for two weeks."

Far above their heads, up in the sleeping quarters, a violent scream rang out and was immediately followed by several loud crashing noises.

"And that's exactly why I'm going to kill her."

Another smashing sound was heard, followed by a vicious stream of obscenities.

"Whoah," Trunks muttered, looking up in his sister's direction. "What the hell happened to her?"

Glaring at his son, Vegeta also glanced upward. "She's twelve and I'm ready to kill your mother over abandoning me with her. What do you think happened?"

Trunks' blue eyes widened in horror. "She didn't…"

"She did."

All of the color drained from the half blood's face. "Well, would you look at the time? I have to get to class…"

"Coward," Vegeta muttered.

With a terrified smile on his face, Trunks gave his father one last glance. "I may be a coward, but unlike you, I'm going to live to fight another day!"

Shooting another glare at his son, the elder prince growled out, "Should I fall in battle, I'm counting on you to execute your mother."

"If I promise to do that, can I run away now?" the boy asked.

"Yes."

"Deal!" Trunks shouted. "Good luck, Dad!" he called out, already on his way out the door. "I'll be sure to avenge your death!"

Vegeta shook his head at his son's hasty exit. While the boy's exit had been less than heroic, he could not fault the boy for it. If there any way at all for him to have done the same thing, he would have done it in a heartbeat. At that moment, the prospect of facing down a thousand enemies more powerful than himself seemed significantly more appealing than what he knew he had to do.

Steadying his nerves, the prince quickly ascended the staircase. The sooner he started, the sooner he could be done with.

As he made his way through the large house, the sounds of violence and fury grew louder and louder. _That woman is so dead when she gets back_, he thought. _I don't care if I have to claw my way out of Hell to do it, I'm going to murder her…_

Softly, the prince knocked on the door. "Bra?" he asked.

He quickly jumped back as a part of the door fractured under the stress of having a lamp savagely thrown against it. "Holy crap," he muttered. His daughter's skills as a fighter were mediocre at best, and her strength paled in comparison to the others with Saiyan blood. While the Saiyan genes had dominated in all of the others, it somehow never truly manifested in his little girl. She was far more human than the others were.

At that moment, though, no one would be able to tell the difference.

"Bra!" he called out more forcefully, banging on her door. "Open this door right now!"

"I HATE YOU!" she screamed in return.

_Okay, when this is over, __**both **__of them die_. "This is your last chance, Bra," he firmly said. "Either open the door right now or I will tear it from its hinges and make sure that it does not get replaced for a very long time!"

Violently, cracking the hinges on the way, Bra threw the door open. "WHAT?" she screamed in his face.

Roughly, Vegeta shoved his daughter into her plush recliner. "I don't care what the hell you're going through right now," he angrily warned, "you do not get to speak to your father like that!"

Fuming, Bra crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine! I won't scream!" she bit out. "What do you want?"

"Watch yourself," he cautioned. "I came to help you, but if you would prefer, I can leave you to face this hell on your own."

Bra huffed. "What 'hell' are you talking about?" she snapped.

Closing his eyes, Vegeta fought to maintain his composure. "Do you really not know where this conversation is going?" Vegeta growled, getting more than fed up with his daughter's attitude.

The twelve year old let out a scream and smashed her fists into her desk, shattering the top of it. "If you came up here to help, then help! Otherwise, get the hell out of my room!"

Bra growled and shoved her father roughly, trying to force her point across to him. When that proved to be ineffective, she actually tried to take a full blown swing at him. Her fist was caught a precious inch from his nose, and the prince was not comforted by how much of his own strength had to be used to stop it.

With another shriek, she tore her fist out of her father's hands. "Get the hell out of my room!"

"Watch it, girl," Vegeta growled. "Mood swing or not, you do not have the right to speak to me like that."

Trying to press herself past her father, Bra gave a grunt as she realized that it was not her best idea. "Geez, Dad!" she shouted. "You think just because I'm having a bad day, it's a mood swing? Kami, you think you know me so well, don't you?"

Keeping his temper was getting harder by the minute. "Do you honestly believe that this is strictly your latest temper tantrum?"

"Yes! You're so frickin' paranoid that without Mom here, you probably are thinking that _everything_ is wrong!"

Taking in a quick inhale, Vegeta stepped aside and allowed his daughter passage. If she didn't want to do it the easy way, then she was just going to have to discover it the hard way. As the door slammed shut, he leaned against the wall and began to count backwards. "Five, four, three, two, one…"

A blood curdling scream rang out. Two seconds later, the door was open and a hysterical Bra was clinging desperately to her father. "Oh, Daddy!" she cried into his chest. "Something's wrong with me!"

"Bra," he responded in a no-nonsense tone, "there is nothing wrong with you."

"But I'm _bleeding!_"

_Kami, kill me now_… "Bra, didn't your mother talk to you about this last year?" he asked, more than a little hope in his voice.

Bra's bright blue eyes shone with overflowing tears. "What?"

Clearing his throat and leaning against the door, Vegeta looked just past his daughter's head. "Did you, or did you not, have a conversation with your mother last year about…certain…changes that you would be going through?"

Sniffling, Bra began to wring her hands together. "Sorta," she said. "I mean, she talked about how I was going to get taller, and that my hips would get bigger, and that I would _finally_ get boobs, and about something called a uterine lining, and…"

"STOP!" Vegeta commanded. He had a hard enough time listening to the list the first time, her certainly did not want to think about it again. "Bra, what was the last one you said?"

The twelve year old sniffed as she looked up at her daddy. "What, about losing a uterine lining?"

Vegeta groaned. He could tell from the tone of her voice that, just as he had feared, she really had not understood 'the talk'. He had told Bulma that her terms had been too scientific and not nearly graphic enough for the girl to understand, but his wife had been sure that the message had gone through loud and clear.

_I'm going to kill that woman in terrible, terrible ways…_

"First things first," he growled, reaching into his pocket. He had been able to smell the final step of her 'change' when she had stormed the kitchen that morning, and like any true warrior, he had gone to battle prepared.

Bra sniffed as she looked at the green square her father was offering her. "What's this?"

Vegeta's cheeks turned bright red as he handed the pad off to his daughter. "You're not seriously going to make me explain this…"

Forty very awkward minutes later, as Bra sat in front of the TV and ate straight from the carton of chocolate ice cream, a quiet ringing noise sounded off from the kitchen table. With the deepest scowl he had worn in several years, he flipped his phone open and shouted, "WHAT?"

Bulma laughed on the other side of the phone. "Oh, what's got your panties in a twist, honey?" she cackled.

"What happened to, 'no phones, no communication, no way'?" the Saiyan snarled.

Snickering, Bulma cradled the phone closer to her shoulder. "I always sneak something in, honey. You know that."

The phone in Vegeta's hand fractured slightly under his grip. "What the hell did you think you were doing, leaving _me_ to do this?" he hissed, walking further away from the room his daughter was sulking in.

The scientist smiled sadly to herself. "Actually," she admitted, "I didn't figure it out until right before I had to leave, and by then it was too late to get out of the retreat. I really am sorry, sweetie."

"You're a dead woman," the prince growled.

From off in the living room, a shriek sounded out, followed by a cracking noise. "YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO CANCEL MY FAVORITE SHOWS!"

Bulma cringed. Even through her satellite phone, she could hear the sound of her living room television splintering. "Well, I have to get going. They're going to figure out that I'm missing if I'm gone for too much longer. Love you!"

Vegeta stood there, stunned, as he simultaneously heard the sounds of his wife hanging up and his daughter screaming at the broken television.

_Yep, that woman is dead…_


	9. Christmas

"I still find this ritual to be ridiculous," Vegeta grumbled, pulling on his blue bathrobe.

Bulma smacked her husband on the shoulder, as had become their annual tradition on the day. "I have told you a thousand times, Vegeta, Christmas is about…"

"I am well aware of what this day is meant to be about," the prince sharply replied, tying off the robe. "It is the way in which it is celebrated that is absurd. What was meant as a spiritual day for one clan of your people has been claimed by the remainder of society in an effort to convince small children that an obese man breaks into homes to leave toys behind."

The heiress rolled her eyes as she slipped on her own pink robe. Five years ago, she had managed to talk Vegeta into celebrating Christmas with the family, and for five years, each Christmas had started with the same conversation. "Well," she simply said, rolling her eyes, "as long as you are not the one to disillusion our son about the fat man, all is well."

Without another word, the two descended the stairs and headed for the main living room. Bulma's parents had beaten them to the giant Christmas tree, and the perky blonde offered excited greetings as she handed out coffee to the others.

Taking a sip of his drink, Vegeta raised his power level, signaling his son. Another Christmas tradition, Trunks was not allowed to be in the room with the presents unless the adults were already assembled, and the fastest way to let him know that was to have his father send the signal. The four adults stepped away from the living room doorway, and as Bulma and Vegeta took simultaneous sips of their beverages, a golden light flew into the room.

"Hey!" Vegeta barked. "What is the rule?"

Sheepishly, the nine year old turned around and looked at his father. "No running at full speed inside the house unless a serious, direct threat needs to be dealt with."

"And?"

"No going Super Saiyan inside the house unless a serious, direct threat needs to be dealt with."

Giving a grunt to acknowledge that his son had been warned, the elder prince took what had become his Christmas morning seat on the far left side of the couch. With a broad smile on her face, Bulma took a seat next to her husband and waited for the festivities to begin.

The family matriarch giggled, fluffed her blonde hair, and went in to a speech about the importance of the season. Vegeta and Trunks, as they did every year, were more or less tuning it out. Vegeta still did not understand what the big deal about a holiday that was not a holiday was, and Trunks was trying to see if he had magically developed x-ray vision so he could find out what Santa had brought him.

"Okay," Bulma loudly said at the end of the speech, clapping her hands together. "I know a certain someone who's just dying to find out if he qualified as a good little boy this year!"

Trunks snapped his head up and grinned. He had learned recently that 'good' was a relative term, and as long as he was on better behavior than _average_, the could still get away with the mother load come Christmas morning.

But it wasn't what Santa had brought him that the boy looked for every year. Every year, the boy tore through gift after gift looking for one from his father, but he was yet to find one. A part of him understood that it wasn't his father's tradition to celebrate the day, that it didn't mean as much to him as it did to the boy, but that still didn't stop the disappointment he felt when that one present was missing from under the tree.

However, he was happy that his father at least joined them for the whole day. When Trunks was four, Vegeta joined them for the first time. He had tolerated the celebration long enough to watch Trunks open his gifts, then disappeared for the remainder of the day. Over the years, the time he spent with them grew just a little bit more, and by that morning, Trunks was confident that his father would not be disappearing.

"Let's see here," Dr. Briefs said, pulling a gift from under the massive tree, "I do believe that this one is from Santa, to Trunks."

The nine year old had to fight to keep himself planted on the ground and simply wait for his grandfather to hand it over. The moment that gift was in the boy's hands, Trunks carefully analyzed the tag on it. At the age of nine, he was battling between his childhood belief in Santa and the growing scientific reasoning in his head that questioned the likeliness of someone being able to yearly sneak in past his father.

He studied the tag, trying to see if he could recognize the handwriting to prove or disprove his beliefs, but it didn't seem to fit that of any of the adults he knew. He gave up with a shrug and tore into the package, jumping with joy at the new gaming console.

As Bulma and her parents made a fuss about how wonderful it was and what a good boy Trunks must have been in the past year, Vegeta mutely continued to sip away at his coffee. The concept of the practice still seemed odd to him. If the family could easily afford such things for the boy, and the boy himself could have gotten it with his allowance, then why was it suddenly the most wonderful thing in the world?

And why, oh why, would the rest of the presents have to be treated the exact same way?

The morning wore on, and Trunks hunted through gift after gift as he hoped to find the prize he longed for. There were well over a hundred presents underneath the Brief's enormous Christmas tree, and Trunks refused to give up hope until every single one of them was opened.

Every great once in a while, the child was forced to wait long enough for someone else to open a gift. Bunny giggled happily at the new cookware her daughter gave her, the homemade picture frame by her grandson, and the diamond tennis bracelet from her husband. Dr. Briefs was gracious for the new blueprint gifted from his daughter, the homemade picture frame from his grandson, and a well made scrapbook from his wife. Bulma had already happily accepted a foot spa from her mother and the keys to a new car from her father when she was handed a gift by her son.

"Let me guess," she said with a smirk on her face. "Picture frame?"

Blushing, Trunks scooted back. "Goten said he was going to make presents for his family, and it seemed like a cool idea, but…uh…" He swallowed, clearly embarrassed, before finally admitting, "The picture frames were the only thing either of us made that turned out like it should have."

"Oh, honey," Bulma smiled, practically glowing as she wrapped her arms around her son. "I love it!"

Turning an even brighter shade of red, Trunks hugged his mother back. He wasn't sure what to expect when he decided to give his mother and his grandparents identical gifts, but if they were going to be happy about it, he wasn't going to complain.

Watching silently from the couch, Vegeta simply took another sip of his coffee. One of the conditions that he had given for joining the family during the gift exchange was that he, in no way, participate actively. He actually wanted to receive gifts even less than he wanted to give them. It appeared that on Earth, a person was meant to show overwhelming gratitude, regardless of actual feelings for whatever said gift was. The prince had made it very clear that he would much rather leave empty handed than feign enthusiasm over something trivial, like a hideous sweater.

As the number of gifts began to dwindle to a handful, Trunks felt his heart sink again. He could read the tags of the few remaining presents, and none were from his father. The boy had known that getting that dream gift was unlikely, but it still hurt to come up short in the end.

When the presents were done, Bulma gave her son a loving hug. She knew what he had been looking for, and she knew he wasn't going to find it. "Okay, sweetie," she softly said in reassuring tones. "Go on upstairs, wash up, and get dressed for breakfast."

Offering a sad nod, the boy forced a smile on his face before following orders. As soon as he had cleared the room, and the grandparents had left for the kitchen, Bulma slapped Vegeta on the shoulder. "You know what he wanted," she hissed. "Why can't you just find something random and slap a tag on it for him?"

"It would be meaningless," Vegeta replied with a level voice. "There is little point to gift giving in the first place. There is absolutely no point in giving a gift you do not believe the other will care about. It turns the entire concept into nothing more than a hollow motion of obligation."

Huffing, Bulma glared at her husband. "Then find him something he wants!"

"Sit down," Vegeta commanded

Bulma blinked in confusion, not understanding why he was telling her that. "What?"

Before she had a chance to react, the heiress found herself being tossed to the far end of the couch. Vegeta barely had time to ascend and crouch down defensively before being slammed in to by a matching golden missile. The impact was so intense that the prince found himself launched clear through the wall, and he landed with a grunt on his back.

"THANK YOU!!!" an overly enthusiastic young prince cried out, hugging his fallen father's chest.

Coughing out the drywall he had just inadvertently inhaled, Vegeta pushed his son off his chest. "What rule did we just go over this morning?" he growled.

But the boy seemed unphased by the threatening tone. "Thank you!" he said again and again. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!" With a laugh so giddy it sounded almost like a squeal, Trunks dashed back up the stairs to his room to finally go through with his orders to get cleaned up.

Bulma had shot to her feet the moment she had landed on the couch, and was more than startled by the joy of her dust covered son. As the boy disappeared, she continued to watch in awe as her equally dust covered husband got to his feet, spitting out pieces of wall that had found their way into his mouth. "What…" she stuttered. "Um, why…"

Vegeta never bothered answering her, quietly stalking off to get a shower himself. Breakfast would have to wait. It was another three days before Bulma found out exactly what had happened.

Disappointed, Trunks had gone upstairs to change and clean up. He had grumpily turned on the shower and pulled off his sleep shirt, wishing he had gotten his wish and increasingly miserable that he had not. As he turned to toss his shirt into the hamper, his brilliant blue eyes landed on an envelope taped to his bathroom mirror. Trunks had stared at it, both curious and disturbed by its appearance. He had been in his bathroom earlier that morning, and he was sure it hadn't been there. The only other place he had been had been the living room, and his entire family had been waiting for him there.

Hesitantly, the boy pulled the plain envelope from the mirror and popped it open. Slowly, he pulled out a note and an electronic card. Trunks dropped the card on the counter and flipped open the note, completely stunned by what it said:

_Trunks,_

_This card will grant you access to the gravity room, allowing you to enter at your will. Don't get cocky, the maximum amount of gravity that may be engaged under your key code is only 100g. Perhaps, when you earn it, I shall raise that limit._

Underneath was a series of numbers and letters that the nine year old immediately recognized as an entry code. The card was unsigned, but it didn't take a genius to figure out who it was from. His father had given him access to the sacred training ground, the forbidden temple, the almighty gravity room. Sure, Trunks had been in there before, but it had always been under very strict supervision. The key the boy suddenly found himself in possession of was the biggest sign of trust and confidence anyone had ever given him, and his reaction to it had been instantaneous.

It was two weeks before Trunks was allowed to actually use the card, due to his punishment for tackling his father through a wall, but the nine year old didn't care.

It was his best Christmas ever.


	10. Party Time

"Absolutely not," Vegeta hissed at his wife.

Bulma placed her hands firmly on her hips, glaring angrily at her husband. "It's just a party," she fought back. "That's what teenagers do for fun: they go to parties!"

"I don't care what they do for fun, she is not going!"

Since Bra had entered her teen years, her parents had been through a thousand arguments like this one. Vegeta wanted to keep her as far away from all other teenager, particularly the males. He saw no reason for her to even bothering to associate with them. Trunks had gone through puberty with, ultimately, just Goten by his side. He had been so concerned about his powers that he didn't start really dating until he was seventeen. Vegeta saw no reason for Bra to do any differently. Though, if he were being honest with himself, he would change the age from seventeen to seventy.

Bulma, on the other hand, wanted her daughter to have all of the freedom and fun that she, herself, had been allotted at that age. She felt that Bra, with all her super human abilities, could handle herself just fine in any given situation. The only people on the planet who had the ability to overpower her were the ones who would do anything to protect her.

The heiress smacked her husband on the shoulder. "She is a fifteen year old girl, Vegeta," she argued, though she did try to keep her voice as calm as possible. "I know that you don't want her to go, and I know that you just want to look out for her, but let's face it, she doesn't get a lot of chances to be with kids her own age. Between my family empire and your super powers, it's not like there's a lot she can bond over with her peers."

Glaring, Vegeta crossed his arms over his chest. "If there is nothing for her to 'bond over' with her 'peers', then she has no need to spend time with them."

Bulma had to fight to keep from flat out screaming at her prince. "Damn it, Vegeta, I know you don't like human teenagers, but whether you like it or not, your daughter actually is half human and does have a need to spend time with them!"

The prince lightly bit down on the inside of his cheek as he considered his wife's argument. It was true, he _did_ hate human teenagers. They had little intelligence and absolutely no control over any aspect of their lives. They were rebellious and defiant. They used chemicals to 'free their minds' while actually performing acts of stupidity. And, of course, they constantly blamed their parents for every little thing that was wrong in their lives.

He did _not_ want his princess to be one of them.

"I do not approve of this," he growled.

Bulma could tell from his posture that Vegeta really was uncomfortable with the idea, but that there may be room for negotiations. "Vegeta," she calmly said, "it's one party, there will be adult supervision, and we already know that Pan's going. If Gohan can let his daughter go…"

Sensing that he was not going to get his wish of keeping his daughter home, Vegeta moved to an alternate strategy. "She needs to be home by ten," he firmly stated. "I need to know exactly where she is, I need to know who's home she is in, and I need to approve of what she wears before she sets foot out of this house."

His wife rolled her eyes. "I'm not giving you an address, Vegeta. You'll only hunt her down and drag her home when your paranoid mind gets the best of you. And the party goes until two."

"She is not staying out that late," the Saiyan angrily bit out. "And if I don't know where she's going, she's not going."

Bulma bit down on her lower lip. The curfew might be negotiable, but even she had to admit that wanting to know exactly where your child was supposed to be was not at all an unreasonable request. However, she had not been exaggerating about the idea of Vegeta hauling Bra from the scene due to thoughts of misbehavior.

With a sigh, she offered a compromise. "Midnight, and I'll give the address to Trunks. He's almost as protective of Bra as you are, but she may actually be able to squeeze an extra hour of fun out of her night before _he_ gets worried and kidnaps her."

"And my other terms?"

Again, Bulma sighed. Years ago, when his demands were unreasonable, it had been so much easier to tell him as such and get what she wanted. But as the years had gone on, she found that he made demands that would be made by any other father. "I have the family name, so if something does go wrong, I will deal with it." She took a deep breath before finally agreeing to the term that would make her daughter furious at both of them. "And her outfit has to pass a _reasonable_ inspection from you."

Vegeta considered for a moment before finally accepting. "Deal." He glanced up to the internal balcony, more than aware of the fact that their daughter had been watching the entire time. He offered her a slight nod, and the girl giddily jumped to her feet to go get ready for a fun night out.

/////

Ten minutes later, the slender fifteen year old bounced down the staircase. "I'll be home at midnight!" she called out, making a break for the door.

"Hold it!"

Bra cringed. She knew about the conditions of her freedom for the evening, and she knew which one she was already busted on. The girl slowly turned around, trying to give her father the most innocent look she could muster. "Yes, Daddy?"

Vegeta glared at his daughter, looking over what she was wearing. The only visible part of her outfit were a pair of black, ankle height, four inch heeled boots, the black silk ribbon tied like a headband in her thick, lightly curled hair, and a long black coat. "Open it."

"But Daddy…"

The prince shot his daughter a glare that meant that the subject was non-negotiable, and Bra gulped as she unbuttoned her knee-length coat. It was not her best thought out scheme, but it had been all she had been able to come up with in her room. As she slowly opened it, she revealed a pair of almost obscenely short black cut-offs, paired with a cropped, hot pink halter top.

If she didn't know that she was in trouble, Bra might have laughed at the expression on her father's face. That, and the fact that she thought there was an outside chance that she might actually have given her father a stroke, helped her keep her mouth shut.

Vegeta glared at his daughter. "You can't possibly be serious…"

Letting out a nervous laugh, Bra quickly buttoned up her coat again. "No, Daddy! This was…a joke! Yes, just a joke!" Her laughter got slightly more nervous as she slid around her father, back toward the stairs that led to her room. "I'm, um, just going to go upstairs and put on my real outfit…" With her face a brilliant shade of red, the fifteen year old bolted for her room.

Five minutes later, she hopped back down the staircase in, what she considered, a much more modest outfit. "Bye, Daddy!"

"Stop!"

Bra rolled her eyes. "Come on, Dad, I put on a longer shirt!"

It was true, she did. She was still wearing the boots and the short shorts, but the cropped, hot pink halter top had been traded for a dark green one that, while reaching the hemline of her shorts, was cut even deeper at the top.

"No," he bluntly said.

Bra huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why can't I wear this?"

"Look straight down and see your answer."

The teenager looked down and saw what her father was talking about. With her arms in their current position and her top cut as deep as it was, her ample breasts were really the only thing she could see. There was no way that her father would let her out like that. Growling, she stomped back up to her room.

Vegeta sat down on the couch, rubbing out his suddenly throbbing temples. If he had known that the simple act of making sure she was modest before leaving the house would have been such an ordeal, he would have just locked her in the gravity room and thrown away the key. As he heard her feet come down the staircase again, he groaned quietly to himself, knowing perfectly well he was going to regret turning around.

He wasn't wrong. His daughter hand changed from her short shorts to an equally short skirt. The shirt she wore certainly wasn't low cut anymore. She wore a high collared, light pink sweater with short sleeves. However, it only went three quarters of the way down her ribcage, leaving several inches of her midriff completely exposed.

"Absolutely not!" Vegeta shouted.

Bra was getting fed up. The party had started almost an hour earlier, and she was yet to make it out of her house. "You know, Daddy, this isn't that bad! All the other girls are going to be wearing clothes just like this!"

"I don't care what those idiot adolescents are wearing, you are not leaving this house like that!"

The teenager shrieked and stomped her foot. "Why are you doing this to me, Daddy?" she cried out. "I have a hard enough time fitting in with the other kids! Why aren't you at least letting me _dress_ like them?"

Vegeta growled deep in his throat. "If you think for one moment that I am going to let my fifteen year old daughter go to a social function like _that_…"

"All the other girls are going like this," the girl shot back, "so why can't I?"

"Because you can't," Vegeta shouted. "Go to your room, and do not bother coming back down those stairs until you are dressed in a manner befitting your age!"

"But my boobs are covered now!" she fought back.

Vegeta visibly cringed and brought a hand to his eyes. _So this is what a stroke feels like…_ "It is not negotiable. Dress appropriately, or don't go."

With another angry shriek, the princess stormed back up to her room. She slammed her door so hard that the hinges cracked off and it fell off completely. "Piece of crap!" she screamed, kicking the fallen door. She let out an angry scream and launched a pillow at her bed, screaming in frustration again as it exploded in a burst of feathers. After a five minute temper tantrum, the teenaged princess had a wicked smirk cross her face.

"All right, Dad," she quietly said to herself. "I'm not supposed to come down again until I wear what _you_ want me to wear? Fine." She got to her feet and grabbed her coat. "I won't go down the stairs."

Quickly sliding a cropped jean jacket over her shoulders, Bra popped her window open and prepared to jump out.

"If you actually physically try to sneak out that window, I promise you that you will be barred from every social function you are invited to for the remainder of your natural life."

Bra's eyes almost popped out of her head. There, floating next to her fourth story bedroom window, was her clearly agitated father. She had been caught red handed, with her foot in the windowsill and an already disapproved outfit on her body. There was no way to talk her way out of it.

Huffing, Bra crossed her arms again and glared at her father. "Why won't you let me do anything that _normal_ kids do?"

The prince pushed her backwards, forcing her to sit on the bed. He slowly climbed in through the window, glaring angrily at his teenaged daughter. "I permit you to do plenty that others your age do," Vegeta countered. "I will not, however, let you parade yourself around like a concubine, particularly if you are going to directly disobey me and try to sneak out of the house!"

"All the other girls dress like this!" she whined back, trying to stand up.

Vegeta placed a hand firmly on her shoulder and shoved her back down. "You will dress like a proper young woman should, or you are not going at all. You are most certainly grounded for the next week for trying to sneak out, but your mother thinks you should get another chance to save your skin for tonight. Rest assured, you are grounded when you get home." He slowly got to his feet and headed for the permanently open door. "You have one more chance."

"But Dad, the other kids…"

Vegeta held up his hand, cutting her off. "If you appease me on the next attempt, you may go."

As her father left the room, Bra stared listlessly at her closet. She had thousands of dollars worth of designer clothing, but designer didn't win her points with her father. Normally, she had no problem dressing how she knew her father wanted her to. However, it was her first _major_ party, and she wanted everyone to notice her.

But even Bra knew that no one would notice her if she never got to leave the house.

With a reluctant sigh, the princess searched her clothes for something, _anything_, that her father might approve of.

Ten minutes later, the fifteen year old quietly descended the staircase. She still had the black ribbon in her hair, and she still wore her black boots, but the rest of her outfit had entirely changed. She wore full length boot cut jeans and a green, tunic length blouse with a yellow sash tied around her waist. Draped over her arm was the same black coat she had tried to sneak out of the house with.

"Well?" she quietly asked, knowing perfectly well that she was on her last leg.

Vegeta got to his feet and circled his daughter, making sure that the entire outfit was appropriate. With a quiet nod, he gave his approval.

Bra gave him a soft smile and gave him a quick hug. "Okay, before you start the lecture: I will be home by midnight. I will not drink anything other than water, juice, or soda. I will not make out with anyone. I will not change my location unless I have prior permission from Mom _and_ you. And if I even begin to suspect that something _seriously_ wrong is going on there, I will head straight home immediately."

The prince offered another nod, reminding her, "If _I_ so much as suspect that something is wrong…"

"You'll haul my ass out of there so fast that I'll never see you coming," the girl finished with an eye roll.

"Actually, your mother made me swear that I would not go under any circumstances, so your _brother_ will be forced to leave _his_ date to haul your ass home," he corrected. "And I'm sure he would just be _thrilled_ to do that."

Bra smiled up at her father. "So, I'm clear for take off?"

"One final thing," the prince said. "Should, during your 'fun', you find a moment of sanity, watch the idiots that are surrounding you."

The teenager blinked at her father, confused. However, she knew she was on wafer thin ice and decided not to question him at all. "Okay, Daddy." She gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before turning to leave. "I'll be back by midnight!"

/////

Two hours later, the front door opened and Bra quietly entered. It was only 10:30.

"You're home early."

The young heiress rolled her eyes and looked at her father. "Have you been waiting for me in that spot the entire time I was gone?" she asked.

Vegeta shook his head. "I only came here when I sensed you flying home."

"Uh-huh," Bra responded. She stood in the doorway, playing with her purse in her hands and looking away. Thirty seconds later, she threw the purse aside and hugged her father tight. "Thank you so, so much, Daddy," she whispered.

It was hardly the response that Vegeta had been expecting, but after twenty-five years of parenting, he knew when to keep his mouth shut and just let her do her thing. Bra eventually pulled away from him and smiled. "You were right, teenagers are stupid."

The prince raised an eyebrow. "You agree with me now?" he asked.

Bra nodded, giving a small eye roll. "Every drink was spiked, the guys kept trying to look down the girls tops, and the music was so loud that it was physically painful for me and Pan…and Goten. Apparently, that was the deal that Pan struck with her dad: that she could go to the party if she was under direct supervision at all times." She hugged her father again. "Thank you for trusting me enough to not send Trunks."

Vegeta opted not to tell her that he had been about ten minutes away from sending his son after her anyway.

"And," the teenager went on, "I took your advice. I watched the other idiots."

"Other?" he teased with a smirk.

Bra hit her father. "You know what I mean, you jerk," she teased back. "You were right. All they wanted to do was drink and try to get laid and…and when you actually stand back and watch them, they really do look like idiots. Especially the girls who…er…dressed like I did earlier." She chuckled lightly before adding, "I think Pan and I were the only girls there being looked in the eye when people talked to us."

Vegeta smirked at his daughter, extremely thankful that his daughter saw it that way. "So you decided that it was not worth staying at?"

Bra blushed slightly and took a step back. "Um, actually, Pan had a 10:30 curfew and I didn't really want to be there without her." She laughed as she went to pick up the purse she had thrown aside earlier. "Anyway, I admit it. You were right, I was wrong. It was better that I played by your rules and didn't dress like the other girls."

She turned to walk up the stairs one final time that evening, she turned and winked at her father. "Goten even said I was the cutest girl there!" she gushed before dashing up to her room.

Vegeta felt all the color drain from his face as his daughter disappeared. "That's it," he muttered to himself. "She's never leaving her room again!"


	11. Family Mark

Vegeta closed his eyes and enjoyed the scalding hot water that poured out of the shower. He had gotten a great night's sleep, his morning training session had gone well, and for the first time in almost a year, the only other person home was his wife. And, on top of all that, Bulma had taken the day off of work and told her staff that calling her would result in immediate termination from the company. She did not, under any circumstances, want to be interrupted from her extra curricular activities.

A wicked grin crossed his features as he cleaned off the sweat. It was going to be a _great_ day!

Trunks was on the other side of the planet, enjoying a beach trip with Goten where there was little chance of being recognized. The boy had said more than once that nothing could ruin a day of fun like thousands of flashbulbs going off. As such, almost all of his days off involved going as far away from his family empire as he could, and it would take hours before he would return to the compound.

Bra was, as always, with her two partners in crime. She, Marron and Pan had agreed to set up base camp at the Son house before doing whatever it was that happened during a 'girls day out'. They had their parent's credit cards and, since the youngest of them was eighteen, no supervision. They could keep themselves busy for a while.

Barring something catastrophic, Vegeta and Bulma would have hours and hours with no one there to bother them.

Yes, it was going to be a great day!

/////

"Are you guys sure that we should be doing this?" Marron asked, looking questioningly at some of the pictures on the wall. "I don't think our parents would approve of this."

Pan rolled her eyes. "You're almost twenty-four years old, Marron," she replied, her annoyance more than evident in her voice. "You don't even live with your folks anymore! Why would you be concerned about what they think?"

The blonde continued staring at the images before her. "Well, I'm still not sure this is such a great idea." She shifted to the next framed set and narrowed her eyebrows as she studied what she saw. "I mean, how do you even decide which one is your favorite?"

Sitting off in a chair, Bra focused on reapplying her lipstick. "Marron, we're not forcing you to do this," she calmly said, studying her reflection in her compact mirror. "If you don't want to go through with this, you don't have to. All we ask is that you stay here while we do it."

Her eyes still fixated on the pictures before her, the blonde slowly nodded. "Thanks," she softly said. "I still don't know how you managed to make up your minds about this."

Pan groaned and walked across the room, disappointed that their elder friend was going to be backing down. At the ripe old age of eighteen, she was yet to develop the maturity to deal with a friend changing her mind about such an important activity. She grumbled under her breath and left the actual conversation to the other two.

"Don't mind her," Bra said in an off handed manner. "She's just immature."

It was Marron's turn to roll her eyes. "Yes, because you're _so_ much older than she is."

The young heiress shot a deadly glare at her blonde friend. "Those four hundred and twenty eight days make a hell of a lot of difference," she defended, getting to her feet.

Holding her hands up defensively, Marron quickly backed off. While the blue haired girl had never intentionally hurt her before, there had been more than one temper tantrum in the past that had gotten dangerous. "Hey, I'm just making a joke!" she defended. "You guys just seem a little tense right now. Are you sure you want to be doing this?"

Bra took a calming breath before pulling a small journal out of her enormous purse. "I'm sure," she replied. "I dug this out of my mom's closet last year, and it is just too cool to not go through with."

Marron grabbed the journal out of the nineteen year old's hand and flipped it open. The blonde only shook her head as she continued looking through the designs. No matter what her friends said, it still seemed like a bad idea to her.

/////

Bulma finished lighting the candles in her bedroom. She slid over to her vanity and double checked her appearance. Her hair was flawless, her makeup was minimal but effective, and her lingerie was trashy. She and her husband had waited a long, long time to have an open opportunity like this, and they were not going to let it go to waste. Sure, they still had a lot of fun at night, but knowing they were completely alone…

"Okay," she with a giggle, adjusting herself in her top. "He should be out of that shower any second now…" As if on cue, she heard the water for the shower completely cut off. A wicked look crossed her face as she hopped on to the bed and quickly found a seductive pose.

As the bathroom door began to open, though, the phone began to ring. "Damn it!" husband and wife yelled in unison.

"I thought you said that the phones had been disabled for the day! You should have turned your cell phones off!" Vegeta shouted, holding his towel firmly around his waist.

"I did!" Bulma shouted back, tearing open the drawer of the bedside table. "You didn't!"

Vegeta glared angrily as his wife thrust his cell phone in his face. He used it so rarely that he had honestly forgotten about it that morning. Only his wife and his children had his phone number, and they all knew it was the single worst way to get a hold of him. As such, it was virtually never used.

"Damn it," he growled, snatching the offending appliance from his wife's hand. He took only a moment to identify the incoming number as his daughter's before flipping it open. "What the hell do you need?"

"An aspirin to fix my now strained heart," Gohan growled on the other line. "Why aren't any of your eight thousand other phones working?"

Sitting angrily down on his bed, Vegeta had to fight to keep his temper in check. "The kids are out of the house for the day, Gohan" he snipped. "You do the math. Now why the hell are you calling me on my daughter's cell phone?"

Bulma rolled her eyes, but was determined not to let one interruption ruin their day. All she had to do was turn the phone off once the conversation was done, and they would be right back on schedule. Slowly, she rolled up on to her knees and wrapped her arms around her husband's body. Seductively, she began to nibble on his ear, but much to her disappointment she found herself being ignored.

Vegeta was leaning forward, a look of disbelief on his face. "Could…could you repeat that?"

As Gohan repeated his message, all of the color drained from the prince's face. He shot to his feet so quickly that Bulma didn't have a chance to back up, causing the poor woman to almost fall off the bed entirely. She did, however, land face first on the comforter.

"What the hell?" she shouted into the comforter. Angrily rolling over, Bulma glared furiously at her husband. "Vegeta, what the hell are you doing?!?"

Vegeta was finishing pulling on his shirt, having gotten dressed as his wife had tried to gather her bearings. "I'm going to go kill our daughter," he snarled, shrugging on his jacket. Furiously, he jumped out the window and flew straight for Gohan's home.

Disappointed and frustrated, Bulma went around the room and blew out the candles. She didn't know what her daughter had done, but she was going to kill her personally for ruining the day!

/////

"Where is she?" Vegeta growled as Gohan opened the door.

Looking equally pissed off, Gohan tilted his head toward the staircase. "Pan's room," he bit out. "I don't know what you're going to do with your daughter, but make sure mine doesn't get caught in your wake. I want to kill her myself."

Not wasting another second, Vegeta was up the stairs and bursting into the girl's room. Each one of the teenaged girls had chosen their own corner to stand in, their faces full of both shame and fear.

Pan looked, frightened, at Vegeta, but relaxed the moment she realized that her own father was not also entering. "Hi…hello, sir," she timidly spoke.

The prince ignored the eighteen year old, focusing instead on his own daughter. Bra was staring at the floor, biting on the nail of the middle finger of her right hand. Her left arm was wrapped tightly around her middle, and it was obvious that she had been crying before he got there.

It was taking every ounce of willpower he had to keep himself from screaming at her right there. It had been a long time since either of his children had done anything even close in stupidity as Bra just had. "Pan," he growled, his eyes never leaving his daughter, "get out."

Shaking, Pan just stared at the Saiyan in front of her. "But…my dad said…"

"Get out."

It took the dark haired girl only two seconds to decide that it would be safer to suffer the wrath of her own father rather than get in Vegeta's way and _then_ facing her father's fury. She got out of the room as quickly as she could, leaving father and daughter alone.

"Sit down," Vegeta commanded, his shallow breaths a clear indicator of how mad he was.

Bra's eyes did not leave the floor, but they did grow enormous. The end of her nail snapped off in her mouth, and she held on to herself tighter than ever.

When she did not follow his orders, Vegeta approached his daughter and forced her to look him in the eye. "Sit down," he firmly stated again.

Tears continued to stream down Bra's face. She knew what she had done would not be met with approval, particularly by her father, but she had honestly thought that he would not find out. If nothing else, she figured she would at least have a _little_ time before he found out about it. It had never crossed her mind that it would take less than an hour for her to get busted.

Trembling, the nineteen year old shook her head and tried her hardest to look away. "I…I can't…"

Vegeta clenched his teeth, and the vein on his forehead stuck out prominently as he figured out what she was saying. He placed a hand firmly on the back of her neck and aimed her for the door. "We're going home," he commanded. "Now."

Nodding, Bra sucked in a quick breath, trying to keep herself from bursting into tears. She quickly stepped out of the room and headed for the stairs. Though she desperately wanted to shoot her friend a look as they left the house, the young heiress knew that the smartest thing she could do would be to follow orders and keep her eyes down.

"Fly," Vegeta commanded, pushing the girl the rest of the way out of the door. Without a moment's hesitation, she took to the sky and headed straight home. Bra was not nearly as fast as her brother was, and it took almost an hour for them to finally reach their home. A long, slow, silent hour.

Bra did not need to wait for instructions to know to head straight for her own room. Her father gave her a ten second head start, needing time to collect himself if he wanted any chance of not blowing up at her.

Taking a breath that was meant to be calming but failed miserably, Vegeta took a firm step into the house. If at all possible, the prince wanted to chew out his daughter, hand out her sentence, but give her twenty four hours before her execution. If there was any way to salvage his day, Vegeta was going to find it.

As he placed his foot on the bottom stair, he heard a noise coming from the kitchen. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he growled. He got off the step and headed straight for the noise, already knowing what he was going to find.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" he demanded, looking at his son and Goten.

The Son boy had a full mouth, so he only offered a wave. Trunks, however, was still assembling his snack, so he offered an explanation. "We were almost halfway there when we heard on the radio that our beach was full of paparazzi," he grumbled. "Apparently, some movie star wasn't smart enough to tie on her bikini well, and she ended up swimming topless in front of a guy with a camera phone."

Goten swallowed his enormous bite and wiped his mouth off with his sleeve. "It was all over the internet within minutes, and it's apparently a slow news day, so…"

"So we decided just to hang out here," Trunks finished up, tossing the loaf of bread back in the bread box. "We're probably going to be here for the rest of the day."

Groaning, Vegeta turned away. "Unbelievable," he muttered. He slowly ascended the stairs, remembering how mad he was at his teenaged daughter. If ever that girl had done a stupid thing in her life, this was it.

When he entered her room, he found her in the same position she had been in the Son house: standing in the corner, holding herself with one hand and biting the nails of the other.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he growled.

Bra stared at the ground, clearly uncomfortable. "I…I thought it would be fun…"

"FUN?!?" her father interrupted. Once again, he tried to calm himself down.

Trembling, Bra just nodded. "Last year, I was rummaging through your guys' closet, looking for a pair of shoes Mom said I could borrow. I found Mom's journal. I flipped through it, and I found the pages on this, and I thought…I thought one of them looked kind of cool…" She paused for a moment before adding, "I thought it would be kind of fun to have something foreign…"

"So you decided to have it permanently inscribed on your ass?" Vegeta demanded. "What the hell language did you pick?"

Shuffling her feet, the princess looked down again. "I'm not sure," she admitted, feeling like an idiot. "I think it was something middle eastern…"

"You can't even identify what language it is, but you had it scarred onto your body?!?"

On sheer autopilot, Bra jumped on the defensive. "Dad, it's just a tattoo!" The moment those words left her mouth, the girl slapped both hands over it.

Vegeta's fist clenched tightly as he fought to keep himself in check. "I know I am going to regret this," the growled, "but which image did you have stained into your skin?"

With a trembling hand, the teenager opened up her purse. She pulled out her mother's journal and flipped it open to the page with her chosen design. "I got the circled on," she softly said.

Vegeta stared at the image before him, recognizing it immediately. "Oh, crap…"

As the prince's eyes bugged out, staring at what his daughter had been tattooed with, Trunks and Goten softly entered the room. "Hey," the thirty year old hesitantly spoke, "I hope we're not interrupting, but we've been feeling ki's fluctuating, and we wanted to make sure everyone was okay."

Vegeta grabbed the journal from his daughter and tossed it to his son. "Your sister thought it would be 'fun' to have this tattooed on her ass," he said with an eerily calm voice. He glared at his daughter before continuing. "I will discuss this with your mother, and we will hand down your punishment together. Until that moment, you are confined to this room. You may not use your computer, your phone, your…just sit on the damn bed until we get back."

Bra's eyes bulged. "But Daddy, I can't…"

"You will acknowledge the pain in the ass that this situation is, and you will sit down," he commanded one final time. He pushed his way passed his son, who was trying not to laugh, and went to go consult his wife. At the moment, he was so furious and bewildered by the situation that he could not think straight.

He entered their room and sat on the bed, letting out several calming breaths. The water was running in the bathroom, indicating that Bulma was taking a shower. Remaining on the bed, the prince tossed a book at the door to let his wife know that he was back. The water immediately turned off, and it was only thirty seconds before the dripping wet woman emerged, wrapped in a dark blue towel.

Bulma huffed as she brushed a few soaked strands out of her eyes. "She had better have done something pretty damn stupid for you to just leave me here without saying a damn thing."

Letting out an angry sigh, Vegeta looked his wife in the eye. "Your genius daughter found your journal, found what she deemed 'cool' in it, and decided to…" He groaned and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples in agitation. "This day has got to be the strangest and most aggravating of my life."

When he didn't finish his sentence, the soaked woman sat down next to him. "What did she do?"

"You know how everyone has always said that you and she look a lot alike?"

"Yeah?"

The prince changed his view to the wall in front of him as the sound of laughter came down the hallway. Trunks was clearly enjoying the situation, and Bulma was extremely upset that instead of having no kids at home, _both_ of them were home, plus Goten. It was not the romantic afternoon she had hoped for.

Vegeta kept his eyes on the wall as he told his wife, "You two are now completely identical."

It took the scientist a moment to figure out what her husband was saying, but when she did, all the color drained from her face. "She got…"

"That's right," he bit out. "She now has my name, in Saiyan, tattooed on her ass."


	12. Time to Play

Trunks was practically bouncing off of the walls with excitement. The day he had been dying for had finally arrived. It was the day his father was going to make good on the promise he had made just over a month ago.

It was the day his father was going to take him to the amusement park.

The eight year old boy was wide awake at eight in the morning, wishing to Dende that they could leave for the park as soon as possible. However, the park wouldn't open until 10:30, so the boy would just have to keep himself occupied until then.

Trunks had never been to an amusement park before. While his dad had never volunteered for the job before, that was hardly a surprise. Trunks knew that his father wasn't from Earth, and as such, didn't necessarily enjoy things that most Earthlings would. Actually, as Trunks had gotten older, he had started to realize that Vegeta sometimes had difficulty just _tolerating_ certain human customs.

But Vegeta was not the only parent who was disinterested in amusement parks. Bulma hated going out to places where she could be recognized and swarmed by cameras. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that she personally knew the majority of the finalists, she never would have gone to the tournaments. As such, the idea of going to a place that would likely be filled with tourists and cameras was not something she seemed particularly eager to do.

That day, though, Trunks was finally going to get his chance to go to an amusement park. He had seen them in movies and on TV, and whenever they flew by one, it seemed like everyone was having almost a ridiculous amount of fun. It was something he had wanted to do for years, and finally, _finally_, he was going to go.

It was going to be the best day ever!

/////

Vegeta was silent as he pulled in to the parking lot of the park. He had promised to take the boy in a guilt induced moment of panic after accidentally responding in kind to a hit during a training session, but at that exact moment, he was wishing he had been able to come up with something better. The entire concept of the amusement park was lost on him, but he had made a promise to his son and he was not about to go back on his word.

Especially not after what had happened a few weeks earlier. The entire Buu incident was still very fresh in their minds, and both princes never seemed to have it too far from their minds. Trunks had suddenly needed to spend every waking moment with his father, and Vegeta was determined not to do _anything_ that could risk losing his family. He knew he had screwed up royally, and was grateful that his son remained oblivious to that information.

There were moments when the elder prince still could not believe what he had done. While he had never even remotely considered himself to be one of the good guys, the idea of throwing everything he had away for his evil ways still boggled his mind. Ten minutes of idiocy had almost cost him the only thing he had: his family.

And that was why, no matter how stupid he found the park, he was still taking his son. He had also made a promise to himself that he was not going to insult any ride, attraction, or person there. It would only upset the boy, and while there was no way it was going to be a permanent change in his personality, Vegeta figured he owed his son at least _one_ day of civility with humans.

Plus, Bulma had insisted that it would be a good way for them to get closer. Vegeta failed to see how him being agitated and Trunks getting frustrated was going to help at all, but after what he had done, he figured it was worth a shot.

He turned off the engine, looking at the park with dread. The damn thing was going to be open for fourteen hours, and he had a feeling his son was going to want to spend all fourteen of them at this hell hole.

As suspected, Trunks was bouncing in his seat with excitement. "This is so cool!" he exclaimed. "Thank you so, so much for bringing me, Dad!"

Vegeta simply nodded, praying the day would be over soon. They got out and headed in, with the eight year old bouncing every step of the way. As soon as they were through the gates, Trunks beamed up at his father and asked, "So what should we do first."

_Go home,_ Vegeta thought, fighting not to grimace. "It is your decision, boy."

Trunks grinned from ear to ear. "I say with start with the Haunted House ride. I saw the commercial for it on TV, and they said that it's scarier than ever. Sounds cool, huh?"

In keeping with his dedication to not ruin the day, Vegeta offered the most noncommittal nod he could. He certainly did not agree with the boy's theory, but he opted for the "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" approach. He had a feeling he was not going to be talking much that day…

With a laugh, Trunks turned abruptly and made his way through the growing crowd. They had gotten there just as the park opened, but there was definitely a steady stream of patrons entering. Already, Vegeta was feeling uncomfortable. It was no secret that he disliked humans, and any time he was completely surrounded by them, his instincts still told him to destroy them. He could control it, but it did not make for a good day.

He followed his son, grimacing as a human brushed against his shoulder. Thankfully, they reached the ride quickly, and there was no line, so they were able to get right on.

"This is going to be so cool, Dad," Trunks said with a grin. "It's supposed to be the scariest thing ever!"

As the ride lurched forward, Vegeta concluded that one of two things was going to happen by the end of the ride: either it would not be nearly as impressive as the boy believed, and thus leave him disappointed, or something might actually succeed in startling either one of them, leading to something being blown up with a ki blast and one, if not both of them, in serious trouble at home.

The car rounded the first dark corner, and cheesy music played loudly among the Halloween style statues. Stage fog and flashing lights surrounded them, and the first 'surprise' popped out at them. While the large spider might have startled a human, the father and son pair had heard the release mechanisms well before the enormous arachnid was launched.

For three more minutes, it was the same story. Flashing lights, unnatural fog, and mechanized dummies at every turn, and not one surprise to either. Needless to say, Trunks was not grinning by the end of it.

"Well," he evenly said as their car lurched to a halt, "that was…different…"

"That I can agree with," his father replied. "What is the next attraction you would like to visit?"

"Roller coaster," the eight year old firmly said. Even though their first ride had been much less fun than he thought it would be, he was still determined to make the most of his day. "I hear that the main roller coaster here, The Juggernaut, is one of the fastest, most complicated, greatest ones on the planet. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Vegeta was grateful that the boy was already well in front of him, allowing him to roll his eyes without being caught. Outside of what Bulma made, the Prince of Saiyans was yet to be impressed by anything made by humans.

He followed his son through the now solid crowd, fighting to keep his temper in check. By the time they made it to the apparently famous coaster, there was already a two hour line waiting for them.

So they waited, moving two inches at a time for two solid hours. And for two straight hours, Vegeta strummed his fingers along his bicep in agitation. Being completely surrounded by humans was not helping his temper. Trunks could somewhat sense his father's unease, but as there seemed to be minimal risk of him either blowing up the park or himself, he opted to ignore it. So, since he knew his father didn't talk when like that, he decided to do the talking.

By the time they were finally at the front of the line, even little Trunks was running out of things to talk about. If they had been forced to wait too much longer, the eight year old might have been forced to resort to confessing to things he was fairly certain his parents didn't know about yet, just to keep the 'conversation' going.

At the top of the platform, Trunks sighed the word, "Finally," as he approached the train.

"Hang on a minute, kid," a voice called out. Trunks and Vegeta turned to see one of the park workers approaching them. The worker looked down at Trunks and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, kiddo, you can't right this."

"WHAT?" the boy bellowed.

The worker pointed his thumb to a sign next to his station. "You need to be at least fifty four inches tall to ride this ride, and I hate to tell you this, but you're just not tall enough."

"That's bullshit!" Trunks shouted. He immediately turned bright red and slapped a hand over his mouth, looking nervously at his father. While Vegeta was yet to decide whether to let that slide or not, he knew that in front of a crowd was definitely not the right place.

"What I'm sure my son meant to say," he slowly spoke, his teeth clenched, "is that it seems more that slightly unreasonable to leave no indication of a height requirement in that obscenely long line that we have spent the last two hours waiting in."

The poor worker really did feel bad for their situation, but there was nothing he could do about it. "I am very sorry, sir," he genuinely apologized. "We only got the report that our sign at the base of the line had been stolen a few hours ago. We haven't had a chance to replace it yet. And I really am sorry, but it's just not safe to let someone his size on this ride. It was not designed to safely hold a body that small, and there's a risk of him being seriously injured. We just can't do it."

Trunks slowly lowered his hands from his mouth, silently fuming at the situation. For two hours they had been waiting for _this_? To be told that he was too _short_? That he wouldn't be _safe_? He was a Saiyan! He could fly! He had super strength! He could bend the track of the coaster with his _bare hands_ if he wanted to, and this _human_ thought that he couldn't handle it?

He shifted his weight, beginning to move into attack mode, but a hand clapped down on his shoulder firmly. Trunks looked up, watching his father shake his head. As mad as he was, he could still take the hint.

The worker gave the boy a sad smile. "Tell you what," he offered, "since we did gyp you, why don't you meet the guy at the counter at the base of the ride? I'll radio down to him and make sure he has something waiting for you."

Knowing there was no other way for the incident to really end, Trunks simply snorted, "Whatever," as he hopped passed the train and headed down the stairs. Vegeta gave the worker one final glare before following the boy. While he had expected the boy to be disappointed by the speed of the ride, it had never crossed his mind that he wouldn't even be allowed on the damn thing.

The eight year old stormed right passed the counter he had been told to go to, not caring what lame 'gift' the park would offer him. He had never been so embarrassed in his life! To be told he was too short to go on a _ride_ was just maddening to him, especially since he knew damn well that there was no way _he_ could get hurt on it. And what's worse, it was in front of a crowd of people!

Vegeta kept a careful eye on his son. He was trying to decide if it would be better to let the boy to attempt to salvage the day in the park, or to protect humanity by getting his clearly moody son away from them. After a moment of consideration, he decided to let the boy try one more attraction. If it didn't go well, they would cut their losses, go home, and Vegeta would have to come up with some other way to make up for the accident to his son.

"Where do you wish to go?" he calmly asked. He had always found it odd that he managed to keep his own temper much better when Trunks was losing his, but that had seemed to be the way the two of them worked.

Trunks thought carefully as they walked away from the ride, disappointed but still hopeful. "Maybe…maybe we should try some of the games next."

Again, Vegeta offered a nod. He had no idea what sort of games the park had to offer, but he sincerely doubted that any of them would offer him any amusement. Trunks was already proving himself as a brilliant strategist, far outclassing any human his age. Discipline and concentration were certainly not his forte, but a thirty second game against a human would be far too easy for the boy.

As they approached the midway, Trunks surveyed his options. "Let's see here," he muttered. "Ring toss, coin toss, ball toss…" Tossing games were certainly not appealing to him. He had no idea how hard would be _too_ hard, and he did not want to accidentally hurt someone by launching a baseball through their torso. "Are there games here that don't involve throwing something?"

"I do not believe that one does," Vegeta responded, nodding toward a shooting booth.

Trunks whipped his head to the side, smirking at it. His mother hated the idea of Trunks playing with any sort of gun, even a clearly fake, brightly colored one, but his father could not have cared less. Vegeta's logic was that Trunks had more firepower and destructive capability in his fingers than any weapon the planet had to offer. If the boy wanted to shoot a fake rifle at an arcade, there was nothing wrong with that.

Trunks reached the booth simultaneously as a group of teenagers did. They didn't seem to pay any attention at all to him. They were too busy gloating with one another, bragging about who would win, to even realize that an eight year old was also in the game.

The boy glanced back at his father, a wicked smirk on his face. "My mission?" he asked.

Vegeta thought for a moment, taking into consideration the likely number of shots, targets, and competitors the boy had. "Threefold the next highest player. Minimum."

"Yes, sir!" Trunks picked up his weapon and took aim for one of the targets, just waiting for the bell to ring. Under three seconds into the game, the child already had taken out five targets.

For the thirty second duration, Trunks didn't blink once. His hands were steady, his aim was true, and his accuracy was flawless. No target was up for more than two seconds before he took it out.

The bell rang again, and all six competitors shelved their guns. The teenagers continued to ignore Trunks until they stepped back to look at the scores.

Ten points per target, one hundred possible targets. The final score was 940 points for Trunks, 60 for the entire group of teenagers combined. "Okay," the eight year old said, grinning as he approached his father, "_that_ was fun." The boy looked around the rest of the arcade and frowned slightly. "You know, as much fun as that game was, the rest of this place kinda sucks. Can we go home?"

Vegeta was hardly surprised to hear his son say that, but there was no way he was going to let the opportunity get away. "If you are certain that is what you wish to do."

Trunks nodded, and they headed for the gates. "Hey, Dad?"

"Hn?"

"When we get home, can we train together?" he asked. "I mean, really train? Like, sparring and stuff?"

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at the request. "If I recall correctly, that's how we ended up here in the first place."

Trunks looked at his feet, and a faint blush crossed his cheeks. "I just wasn't ready for you to swing back, that's all," he admitted. He looked up at his father with determination in his eyes. "I'll be ready for you this time, and I know I'll get hurt, but I promise not to be a baby about it again."

Vegeta looked down at the boy, a serious look on his face. "If you spar with me, Trunks, you will be hit again. Hard."

"I know," the boy quickly responded. "But I really want to train like that with you, Dad. I want to fight with you. I want to spar with you."

A slight smirk appeared on Vegeta's face. "One hour, boy."

Trunks frowned. "I can only spar with you for an hour?"

"No," Vegeta clarified, "one hour from now, you better be in the gravity room and ready to go."

A rush of wind swept through the parking lot. A second later, Trunks was sitting in the passenger's seat of the car, buckled up and honking the horn. "Come on, Dad, let's go!"

Vegeta shook his head as he walked toward the car, the smirk still on his face. Perhaps the day was not a total loss after all.


	13. Girlfight

Bra threw open the front door and stormed in, screaming, "DADDY!" the second her foot hit the inside floor.

Despite the fact that the prince was almost halfway across the enormous compound, he could hear that shrill screech clearly. He groaned and closed his eyes as he heard it. That tone always meant that something had pissed his daughter off royally and she wanted him to make it better.

What made it worse was the fact that he almost always gave in and did it.

Unfortunately, there was no running from her. Whenever she was in that mood, she could locate him instantly no matter how far away he was. He was fairly certain that if he were a dozen solar systems away, she _still_ would have been able to find him instantly.

He closed the book he had been reading and decided simply to accept his fate. He met her in one of the living rooms with his arms crossed over his chest. "What do you want, Bra?" It was at that moment that Vegeta noticed a series of forming bruises on her arms and a couple forming on her face. His arms dropped immediately as he swiftly approached his daughter, a concerned and angry look on his face. He immediately began to closely inspect her face. "Bra, what happened to you?" he demanded.

The furious sixteen year old threw her purse onto the couch. "Stupid Pan," she huffed. "She was all bragging about how she's more Saiyan than I am because she fights all the time and I don't. I told her she was an idiot and clearly flunked math because I'm seriously twice as Saiyan as she is, so she challenged me to a fight to prove it and…and…" Tears filled her eyes as she looked away from her father, almost ashamed. "I _lost_, Daddy!"

Vegeta's heart rate slowed back down to a normal level at the explanation. While he did feel for his daughter, even he could have told her how that fight was going to turn out. He remained confident that if his daughter had _ever_ taken her training seriously, she would easily be able to overtake her friend. However, Pan trained for a couple hours on most days, whereas Bra never trained for more than a couple hours a week. She knew the basics well enough. And there were only a couple humans on the planet more powerful than she was, and since they were all family friends, Vegeta was not too worried about her when she went out.

However, up against Pan, she would not last long. And that was a secret to no one.

He did not need to ask why she accepted the challenge, though. Someone had challenged her status and she had fought to defend it. He was her daughter, after all. Even if going up against an opponent that held an obvious advantage, a true Saiyan would never stand down.

"How long did it last?" he asked.

Bra huffed and brushed some stray hair out of her eyes. "Forty minutes or so."

Vegeta glanced at his daughter's mildly torn outfit. "You fought in _that_?"

Bra's cheeks turned red as she looked down at her form fitting dress and high heels. "Well, yeah! It's not like I had time to go home and change or anything!"

The prince was actually somewhat impressed that his daughter had managed to last forty minutes into a fight in a restricting outfit, and the scuff marks on her shoes and cracked heel on one of them indicated that they had been on her feet for at least a decent part of the fight.

Before he could ask any further questions, though, Bra grabbed his hands. "Dad, what are you doing today?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "My daily routine has barely changed since your birth. Do you really need to ask?"

"Just wanted to make sure," she enthusiastically responded. She gave him a pat on the hand and smiled brightly at him. "Give me twenty minutes to change and get something to eat."

The prince raised an eyebrow at his youngest child. "I beg your pardon?"

Bra was already halfway out the door when she called out, "I'm training with you, and I'm not giving up until I can take that Saiyan wannabe and kick her ass so hard that she'll never be able to sit down again!"

A smirk crossed Vegeta's face. If that was what his little girl wanted, that was what she was going to get.

/////

Bra panted and fell to her knee. They were in their second week of training, and her body had been pushed further than she had ever pushed it in her life. Rivers of sweat poured off her face and onto the floor as she gasped for air, and she closed one of her eyes as the salty liquid ran in to it.

Vegeta circled around her. "Are you giving up on me, girl?"

The sixteen year old princess growled as she got to her feet. "Not a chance, old man," she panted. She fell into a defensive stance and glared at her opponent.

Vegeta smirked at his daughter before moving in for an attack. He was, of course, holding back significantly, but he was certainly not taking it easy on her. Every day since her declaration, he had trained her for three hours as soon as she got home from school, gave her two hours to eat and do her homework, then trained her for another three hours. They also managed to get an hour in before her school day.

Seven hours, every day without fail. And that teenager had shown up to every single one of them ready and raring to go. She trained and she fought and she kept pushing herself with a determination that Vegeta had not seen in his kids since Trunks and Goten had their last major fight several years earlier.

"Don't get lazy!" he commanded as his daughter lost her footing slightly. "Keep your head in the game!"

Bra snarled at him, but she did correct herself. There was nothing that was going to keep her from her goal.

/////

"Holy crap," the sixteen year old mumbled as she collapsed on to her bed. It had been three months since she had started her serious training with her father, and it was exhausting her. Up at five, not asleep until just after eleven, with seven hours of training and a full school day in between, was brutal.

Her social life had come to an absolute grinding halt in the last few months. It had only been a little over a year since she had been allowed to go out with kids her own age that were not in their little group of superheroes, and it had all but ended when she had taken up her training. She still saw Marron and Pan once in a while, but she continued to play princess when she was with them. The only people who knew about her training were those she shared genetic material with.

It definitely kept her fairly isolated.

Plus, her body was beyond worn out. Although, she had to admit, she had never slept so well in her life. There was nothing like being totally drained to help a person fall asleep at night.

But it was more than worth it to the princess. She had made leaps and bounds in her improvements that she knew Pan was not making, and that thought alone kept her on task. She most definitely had her father's pride, and knocking a Son down a peg or two was worth every ounce of spare time she had.

With a smirk on her face, she drifted off into a peaceful slumber, dreaming of the day she would overcome her opponent.

/////

Bra rolled her neck as she stretched out in the car. "I just cannot sit still," she grumbled. In the latter half of the seven months that she had been training vigorously with her father, she had found herself with an oddly high amount of energy when she wasn't sparring with him. Every once in a while, it seemed like her arms or legs just had to lash out.

Vegeta smirked as he drove his daughter home. "I understand, but try not to put your foot through the dashboard. Your mother had a conniption when your brother did that."

"What did _you_ do when he did that?" the teenager asked.

Her father shrugged one shoulder. "I laughed."

Bra giggled. Her seventeenth birthday was only a few days away, and she had cashed in an early birthday present in order to get her father to take her to his most hated place on the planet: the mall. Convincing him to take her had been a lot easier than usual that day, though, since most of what she was looking for was clothing that she could fight in.

Her birthday party was going to be on Saturday, and she knew what her present to herself was going to be. She was going to challenge Pan Son to a rematch.

And she was going to win.

/////

The blue haired princess sat back and sipped on her bottle of water. Her party was about to get started, and most of her guests had already arrived. However, the guest that she was waiting for the most had not arrived. Apparently Pan's parents had to do something or other, so she was running late.

From behind her, her father approached. "How are you, princess?"

Bra swallowed her drink. "A little antsy," she quietly confessed. "I know we've been working on this for seven and a half months, but a part of me just wants to get the fight done and over with."

"Take your time," the prince counseled. "Trust me, there are few things that can throw you into a disadvantaged state like trying to rush things. Feel out your opponent, and you will be in control."

The seventeen year old nodded. She took another sip from her cold bottle, followed by another calming breath.

"You will be fine," he softly reassured his daughter.

Again, Bra nodded. "They're here…"

As she got to her feet, her father kissed her softly on the temple. "Kick her ass, princess."

Bra smiled and hugged her father. "Thank you, Daddy," she whispered. She exhaled slowly as she turned to meet her friend and prove just who was more Saiyan than who. She had worked unbelievably hard, pushed herself beyond her limits, and had sweat, bled, and sacrificed to reach her goal.

She gave her father one last glance, smirking at his reassuring look.

The time had come for her to prove that she had earned her title as Princess of Saiyans.

And she would not let herself or her father down.

She would win.


	14. Girlfight, Part II

Note: I had been intending to leave that last chapter as it was, but due to popular demand, I'm putting in a Part 2!

/

Bra stretched out her arms as she watched the Son's park. She was not intending to start a fight the moment that her friend got out of the car, but there was no reason to not be prepared. The seventeen year old girl could feel her entire body jitter slightly in anticipation, and she had to force herself to calm down. Maintaining a low energy level when she was that excited was less than an easy task.

Pan bounced out of the back seat of the car. "Hey, girlie!" the little brunette cheerfully called out. "Happy B-day!"

"Thanks!" Bra happily responded. No matter how much the seventeen year old was itching for a fight, she could maintain a civil attitude. At least for a little while…

"How've you been?" Pan asked. "I haven't seen you in ages! What on Earth have you been up to?"

"Oh, this and that," Bra casually responded. "You know how crazy life can get sometimes. School, family…you know the deal."

The younger of the pair just laughed and hugged her friend. "Well, I'm glad you could take today off!"

A small part for Bra felt bad at Pan's friendliness. After all, Bra had every intention of beating the crap out of her dear friend. "Hey," the princess quickly said, backing away from the hug with a smile, "I've got to get back to the kitchen with Grandma for just a minute, but we'll totally catch up, okay?"

Pan gave a small shrug and smiled. "No problemo!"

As she disappeared into the house, Bra mentally called out to her father. She had no formal training with her telepathic skills, but since infancy, the girl could get her father to appear just by thinking about him hard enough.

Bra closed the door to the compound quietly and took a seat on her living room couch, closing her eyes for a moment and trying to relax. "This birthday is going to kill me," she announced.

"This was your idea," her father responded, casually entering the room. "You were the one that wanted to stage the fight around the party. And before you argue with me, I would like to remind you that I told you it was not a bright idea three months ago."

"Yeah," Bra countered, "but I was just a stupid sixteen year old then. I'm seventeen now. I am mature enough and thoughtful enough to understand that my childlike plans from such carefree days were fanciful."

Vegeta smirked as he sat down beside his daughter. "Oh, of course." He placed his water bottle down on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch. "Why is this suddenly bothering you, Bra?"

Bra stuck out her lower lip slightly, keeping her eyes on the wall. "Waiting," she admitted. "When Pan got out of that car, I wanted nothing more than to ram my fist into her face. I'm not even mad at her right now, but I want to fight her and show her I'm better so badly that it almost hurts."

"Then why are you waiting?" the father calmly asked.

The seventeen year old glanced up at her father. "Because Mom is going to have a temper tantrum of epic proportions if I get a brawl going in the first five minutes of my birthday party," she explained. "And as badly as I want to beat the crap out of Pan, I think all of us would benefit from keeping Mom in a good mood."

Vegeta nodded in definite agreement. "Especially considering that she will insist that this whole thing was my idea," he muttered.

Bra giggled and sat up a little higher on the couch. "And I know that," she softly said, a hint of laughter in her voice. "So, and please don't take this the wrong way, Dad, one of the reasons I'm waiting is to protect you."

"Bra…"

"No, listen," the girl insisted. "Dad, it's a secret to no one on the planet that any time Trunks and I do something Mom would call 'wrong' she has a tendency to blame it on either your DNA or you influence. And I know that it's mostly a way for her to blow off steam, but I also know that you get blamed for a lot of crap that's our own faults, not yours. I chose to train. I chose to challenge Pan. I chose to fighter her at my birthday party. But at the end of the day, _you're _the one who will be sleeping on the couch."

"Bra…" Vegeta tried to start again.

His daughter interrupted him once more, though. "The way I figure it, if I can hold out long enough, Pan will do something stupid that will warrant a fight all on her own. Now, Mom already knows that I've been training, but she doesn't know about my birthday fight plan. If Pan is the one to pick the fight, then I can whoop her ass just fine without Mom getting upset at all. In fact, she might even be proud of how far I've come. However, if _I_ am the one who picks the fight, Mom's going to assume that you pressured me in to this because of some old grudge against Goku.

"So," she concluded, taking a deep breath, "all I have to do is wait it out until Pan challenges me. That way, I get my fight and you get to sleep in your own room."

A moment of silence passed before Vegeta asked, "Can I talk now without you interrupting me?"

"Well," Bra responded with an overly dramatic sigh, "I suppose I can allow it this once."

"Oh, thank you," Vegeta chuckled.

Bra giggled. "Don't mention it."

"What I was _trying_ to say," the prince went on, "is that it would not be hard to instigate the fight at the time of your choosing without getting your mother upset."

The seventeen year old girl's bright blue eyes grew wide. "Really?" she asked, hope in her voice.

Vegeta smirked down at his daughter. "Oh, easily. It will, however, require bringing your brother in on this."

Bra made a face and stuck out her tongue. "Aw, do we have to use Trunks?"

"It's either that or you wait for several hours for Pan to be stupid enough to call you out at your own birthday party without provocation," Vegeta pointed out.

With a huff, Bra slouched down in the couch a little bit. "Well," she grumbled, "I guess that's a good point. And he is really good at scamming people, and he does have a knack for mischief…" The young princess let out a sigh and relented. "Alright, we can bring the boy in on it. What is he going to do?"

A wicked smirk crossed her father's features. "You leave that to me," he responded, giving his daughter a kiss on the temple. "Now, go out and enjoy a few minutes of your party. Your brother and I will take care of everything."

/

Bra approached Pan and Marron, smiling brightly at them. "Sorry about that, guys," she apologized. "I just had to freshen up a bit after I got that stuff down for Grandma."

Pan snickered as she popped the cap off of her root beer bottle. "Yeah, I'm sure that keeping your makeup flawless is so difficult," she joked.

The princess of the group glared slightly at her younger friend, but ultimately said nothing. While Pan seemed unaware of the subtle reaction, it did not go unnoticed by Marron, who continued to sip at her own drink.

If there was one thing the blonde girl had learned throughout their friendship, it was to never, _ever_ get between the other two if they were at odds with each other. It could not possibly end well for anyone else involved.

"So, happy birthday, kiddo!" Marron said, hugging her half Saiyan friend. "I can't believe you're seventeen already!"

"Yeah," Pan joined in, giving her a pat on the back, "you're an old lady now!"

Marron protested slightly, being the eldest at almost twenty three, but Bra simply smirked back at her younger friend. "I guess I am, you little whipper snapper. After all, you're still only fifteen!"

Pan scowled and crossed her arms. "Only for a couple more months," she grumbled.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bra noticed Trunks sending her a signal that she recognized easily. The princess laughed for Pan's reaction before returning the pat on the back. "Hey, Panny, would you grab me something to drink? I'm dying out here!"

"Sure thing," the younger teen responded. "What do you want?"

"Anything my parents will let me have!"

Pan laughed as she headed for the enormous cooler across the lawn. Little did she know that Trunks was nearby, just waiting for her approach.

As the quarter blood lifted up the lid to the cooler, her ears picked up Trunks' distinct voice. "No, seriously, if they got in a fight, who do you would think would win?"

"Trunks, they _did_ get in a fight," Goten responded, rolling his eyes. "Pan won."

Trunks snorted and took a swig of his beer. "No, I mean a _real_ fight," he pushed. "Bra and Pan have never had a _real_ fight before, and I want to know who you think would win!"

Pan snuck around the corner, trying to listen in to the conversation better.

"I'm pretty sure that _was_ a real fight," Goten replied. "They were pretty vicious with each other that day."

Trunks shrugged as he took another sip. "That doesn't count," he insisted. "Pan was wearing combat boots and training clothes. My sister was in a mini skirt and high heels that, as my mother loved pointing out, were very expensive. I guarantee you that Bra was thinking more about the state of her clothing than the fight she was in, and she still lasted for forty minutes. I'm talking about a serious, hand to hand, no holds barred fight. See, I really think that my sister would kick your niece's ass if they started on a level playing field."

Pan felt her entire face flush in embarrassment as she heard that. She had always prided herself on being the toughest of the girls, and hearing someone insist that she was not came as a serious blow to her pride.

"You really think so?" Goten asked, oblivious to the entire scenario that was going on around him.

"I don't just think it," the lavender haired prince confidently responded, "I know it. In fact, I bet you fifty bucks that if those two duke it out, Bra wins."

That was all Pan needed to hear. She angrily snatched a water bottle from the cooler and stalked away, leaving the lid on the grass. She attempted to compose herself as she approached her two best friends, and she forced a smile on her face. "Here you go," she said in a clearly strained happy tone. "I hope water's okay."

"Water's great," Bra responded, taking a drink. "Thanks!"

Pan took a drink from her soda before sending a clearly fake smile toward her blue haired friend. "So, I was thinking the other day about that fight we had a few months ago."

Bra had to fight to keep a cocky smirk off her face. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah," the younger girl responded. "It was a heck of a fight, wasn't it?"

As if on cue, Marron took a large step back. She had heard that tone enough in her life to know that nothing good was going to come from it.

Bra simply shrugged as she sipped at her water. "It was okay, I guess," she replied nonchalantly.

The red in Pan's cheeks became distinctly more pronounced at the way the princess seemed to dismiss the whole incident. "Yeah," she mumbled. "Anyway, I know that I wailed on you that day, but when you think about it, it was hardly a fair fight."

"Was it, now?"

Pan's fists clenched at her sides. "Well, I was ready for it, but you were dressed as Malibu Barbie like you always are, so I did have an advantage over you. I was wondering if you wanted to, you know, try it again. Of course, this time I would let you be ready for me. You know, just to settle up."

Bra had to turn away slightly to hide the look on her face. "Gee, I don't know," she softly said. "I mean, it's kind of short notice, but I guess we could do it now if you wanted to."

Some of the color left Pan's face at the response. "Wait, you want to go _now_ now?" she asked.

"Well, yeah," Bra responded. "That way, there will still be cake and ice cream afterwards, and I'll have plenty of time to fix my nails. Unless, of course, you aren't ready to do it now…"

"No!" Pan insisted. "I'm ready whenever you are!"

The princess smirked as she polished off her bottle of water. "Okay," she said, "I'll go get changed." She walked into the house without looking back at her friends, heading straight for the fighting outfit she had put together just for the occasion. As she opened up the door to the guest room that she had stashed it in, she smiled at her waiting father.

"Okay, I admit it," she giggled, "bringing Trunks in was a good idea."

Vegeta just smirked at his daughter and handed over the box with her fighting gear in it. "Knock her dead, princess."

/

Five minutes. That was how long the fight lasted. Pan had taken the first swing, confident that she could end it in a single blow, but Bra had caught it easily. The entire group had watched in awe as the Saiyan princess dominated, showing off a side that almost none of them had seen.

It was not a fight. It was a massacre.

Pan never stood a chance.

"Holy crap," Trunks laughed, patting his sister on the back, "that was awesome!"

"Thanks," Bra giggled, hugging her big brother. "And thanks for, you know, helping out."

Trunks chuckled and returned the hug. "Hey, any excuse to cause mayhem is a good one, but this was a fantastic one. You totally wailed on her!"

"I must admit," Bulma chimed in, looking at her family, "I am impressed by how far you've come in these past few months." The heiress leaned forward with a smirk on her face before adding, "And I always love it when we win!"

"Thanks, Mom," the little princess happily replied, wiping away her sweat a little bit. She looked up at her father, positively beaming. "And thank you, Dad, for helping me do this."

Vegeta shrugged one shoulder. "I always knew you had it in you," he honestly said. "You just had to put the work in."

With a laugh, Bra jumped over and hugged her father. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Hey!" Trunks protested.

"Okay, okay, you helped a little," Bra relented.

Bulma blinked, looking between her two children. "Wait a minute, what did he do to help?"

Simultaneously, Trunks, Bra, and Vegeta all seemed to find the sky fascinating. "Oh, nothing," the son casually responded. "Just, you know, offered a little encouragement."

Bulma could tell that there was more to the story, but for once, she decided not to push it. Even if the three had been up to something, the image before her was one that Bulma was not going to risk breaking up. She enjoyed it so much that, as they relaxed and were busy talking amongst themselves, she took a picture of it.

Vegeta was standing there, a triumphant look on his face as he looked at Bra, with his arm around his daughter. Trunks, smiling brightly, stood on her other side, his hand squeezing her shoulder gently. Bra was positively glowing, both from her sweat and in her victory.

It was a picture that would light up their mantle for years.


	15. Date Night

The boy knew that what he was doing could get him in a world of trouble. If his parents walked in on him, he would never be able to talk his way out of it. It was a terrible idea, and he knew it, but as far as Trunks could tell, it was his only option.

Quietly, he prayed that the Open House his sister's school was having kept his family out of the house for, at bare minimum, another half an hour.

If they came back sooner than that, he was a dead man.

/

"You said you were going to be supportive tonight!" Bulma hissed at her husband. "Why can't you do this for your daughter?"

The vein along Vegeta's left temple began to throb. "Don't you dare imply that I am, in any way, abandoning something relevant to our daughter," he growled back. "We came, we saw her classroom, I have looked at her work, and now, woman, it is time to leave!"

Bulma huffed as she crossed her arms. "Vegeta, all the other parents are looking at what the other children are up to, too! Why won't you do that?"

"Because I don't give a rat's ass about what the little idiots can do," he hissed back. "For crying out loud, it's a kindergarten class full of humans! If I've already figured out that Bra is better than all of them at everything, then there is no point in analyzing the rest of them!"

Although Bulma did not completely agree with her husband's thoughts, she could acknowledge his views. "Alright," she relented with a sigh. "I'm going to stay here with Bra and my parents, because I actually _am_ interested in how the other children are doing, but you can go home."

At that moment, Bra came bouncing up to her parents. "Are you going home, Daddy?" she asked.

Vegeta nodded and picked up his daughter. "I'll see you when you get home, princess," he responded.

"Okie dokie," she said, giving him a giant hug. "Me and mommy will see you as soon as we're done!"

He kissed her on the temple and set her on the ground. As the girl ran off to talk to her grandparents again, Bulma gave Vegeta a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you in an hour or so," she whispered.

With a quiet nod, the prince slipped out and headed for home.

/

As the lights to the living room came on, Trunks put his reflexes to the test. From the time the click of the switch sounded to the moment the room flooded with light, the seventeen year old had a couch cushion over the evidence, his elbows on the pillow, and the most innocent look he could muster on his face.

"Hey, Dad!" he breathlessly greeted. "You're home early!"

Vegeta glared at his son. "Don't think for a moment that you have fooled me, boy."

"About what?" the younger prince responded, out of breath and more than a little anxious.

Vegeta's eyes narrowed even further. "Trunks, I already know what you have under the pillow," he coolly said. "Lift it up and face the music."

Trunks swallowed hard. "Dad, I swear, it's not what it looks like…"

"I know what it looks like," Vegeta shot back, "but if you don't lift that pillow in the next few seconds, I think Goten is going to suffocate to death."

Turning bright red, Trunks looked down and realized that Goten had, in fact, been tagging his leg in an attempt to signal a need to be let up. "Oh," he muttered, backing off. "Um, sorry about that…"

Goten gasped for air as he sat bolt upright. "Thanks for letting me up, man," he panted. The sixteen year old boy glanced at the extremely tense looking Saiyan in the doorway and gulped. "I, uh, the thing is…I mean, what we were doing was…" For the life of him, the younger hybrid could honestly not finish the thought out loud.

Trunks cleared his throat. "Uh, what Goten's trying to say is…er…we were just…"

Without saying a word, Vegeta entered the room all the way and sat down in an armchair. "Let us start with the obvious, shall we?" he asked in an oddly calm voice. "As of when I entered the room, the two of you were making out in the dark."

Both boys turned so red they seemed to be lighting up the room even further. "I would like to take this moment to say that this is not what it looks like," Trunks immediately said.

"Well?" Vegeta demanded. "What is it, then?"

Trunks gulped again and stared intently at his hands. "Well, you see, I have a date this Saturday night, and I just wanted some, well, practice."

Vegeta closed his eyes and tried his damndest to keep his head from exploding. The entire situation was oddly reminiscent of a conversation he had with his son seven years earlier. "You have the next sixty seconds to explain to me how necking with Goten on our couch gets you ready for a date you have on Saturday."

The younger prince fidgeted anxiously on the couch. "Look," he began, refusing to look up from his lap, "Goten and I have each been on dates before, but they've never ended with anything more than a handshake at the door. In the last year and a half, I've barely been able to do that! I'm just…Dad, I'm too strong for a human!"

"It's been killing both of us," Goten added. The dark haired hybrid seemed to be embarrassed, but at least he could look the man in the eye. "Trunks once knocked a girl over when he tried to go in for a kiss, and the last date I went on ended up with me giving a freaking salute because I was too scared to touch her!"

Vegeta glanced over at his son. "How did your last one end?"

Trunks continued to squirm. "I gave her a thumbs-up as I dropped her off." Finally, he managed to look up. "You know in the last few years we've been having a hard time controlling our strength. Hell, I haven't even hugged Mom in the last year because the last time I did, I cracked two of her ribs, even though I was trying my hardest to be gentle."

"I've been having the same problem," Goten admitted. "I hurt Mom accidentally, like, three times in one day. And my mom's really tough!"

"So," Trunks went on, "since we're not experienced enough to kiss human girls without, you know, _killing_ them, we figured it might be a good idea to practice a little with each other until we could control it."

Goten nodded in agreement. "Plus, we thought no one would catch us."

Trunks scooted up on the couch as he continued. "We turned the lights off because when we tried with the lights on, we both kept either freaking out or laughing. It was a lot easier to pretend we were with girls when we couldn't see each other."

After a few minutes of somewhat stunned silence, Vegeta shook his head. "You two are absolute morons."

While Trunks once again looked away, Goten simply nodded. "Yeah, that sounds right," he agreed. He then winced as Trunks smacked him hard across the shoulders. "Ow!"

"You're not supposed to agree with someone when they call you a moron!" Trunks hissed. "Honestly, Goten, we've been going over this for, like, fifteen years!"

"What?" Goten defended. "He's right! We _are_ idiots! If we weren't we probably could have come up with something better than making out with each other for practice!"

Trunks huffed and sat back against the couch. "Like what?" he demanded.

Once again, Vegeta shook his head. "Maybe, you idiot, you could have asked one of us who has already done it," he intervened. "Honestly, Trunks, even if you didn't want to talk to me about this, why the hell didn't you go to Gohan or Kakarot? Or the toaster, for that matter?"

Goten leaned over to his best friend. "The toaster?" he whispered.

"Eighteen," the young prince clarified. Summoning what little courage he could, Trunks looked his father in the eye. "Dad, I know that I probably should have asked one of you guys about it, but I was too embarrassed, okay? I mean, who the hell says 'Hey Dad, can you teach me how to make out with someone? I just am not getting the hang of it'!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Then why not ask nerd boy?"

"Because we've seen how awkward Gohan is," Trunks defended, "and it's a mystery how Pan every got conceived. We wanted to be _good_ at it!"

"So your solution was to turn out the lights so you could make out with someone who isn't going to be able to tell you if you're gentle enough because he's got the same damn problem you do?" the pureblood sarcastically bit out.

With another huff, Trunks got to his feet. "You know what, Dad?" he shot out. "We already established the fact that this was not the best idea we've ever had, so please excuse us if we don't need that reinforced!" The younger prince then turned around and began to stomp toward the door.

"Boy!" Vegeta shouted, getting on his own feet. "You march your ass back here right now and sit down this instant!"

Trunks froze for a moment as he contemplated his options. While he did enjoy the effects of a good storm off, he knew that leaving against a direct command meant certain death. Still clearly angry, the seventeen year old made his way back to the couch and sat down.

"Now you listen to me, boy, and you listen good," Vegeta growled, pointing a finger in his son's face. "You are going to sit right there with your idiotic counterpart and you are going to listen to what I have to say!"

"Why?" Trunks growled back. "What are you going to tell us _this_ time?"

Vegeta shoved his son against the back of the couch while simultaneously blocking a nervous Goten's hope for escape. "I am going to teach you two idiots something that you should have learned a long time ago. Now sit down, shut up, and pay attention, or I promise you that you will never score in your life!"

Both boys froze on the couch. "Are you serious?" Trunks quietly asked.

It took one glare from Vegeta to shut them up, and another two hours before either of them could leave the room.

/

Trunks stood next to his date and smiled down on her. "I'm glad that you liked the dinner," he gently said.

The girl looked up at him and smiled right back. "I'm glad you finally took me out, Trunks," she replied. "I was starting to think that you never would."

"Just had to wait for my schedule to clear up," he smoothly lied. The prince closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and carefully wrapped his arm around her.

The girl snuggled up to him. "Well," she softly spoke, "this is my place."

The prince hugged her lightly. "Okay," he replied. Before he said good-night, he remembered everything he had learned from his father and leaned in. Ever so gently, he pressed his lips against hers in a perfect first kiss.

It was more wonderful than he had ever hoped for.


	16. Shall We Dance?

Trunks whistled as he entered the back door of the compound. He was not sure why he was in such a good mood, since nothing fantastic had happened, but he was never one to knock a smile when it came. He slid through his home and headed straight for the kitchen. Rumor had it that his grandmother, despite her age, had been planning to make a spectacularly mouthwatering family meal. With any luck at all, she would be at it already.

As he got closer to his desired room, though, Trunks felt his smile falter. There were no delicious aromas floating through the house, no telltale signs of a feast to come. With a mildly defeated sigh, he walked into the kitchen to make himself a certainly less than amazing snack.

It was no surprise to him that his father was already there. Vegeta was one of those few people so powerful that Trunks could _always_ tell where they were, even when they were not powered up. Besides, it was five-thirty in the afternoon, which meant that it was time for the post-early afternoon workout snack before the slightly later in the afternoon training. What he was not expecting, though, was his father sitting at the table with a piece of paper in his hand and not one bit of food in sight.

Slightly concerned, but not willing to show it quite yet, Trunks shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the back of a kitchen chair. "What's up?" he casually asked.

After only a mild hesitation, Vegeta simply flipped the paper around and let his son read it on his own.

"Ah," Trunks responded with a knowing tone. "Is it that time of year again already?"

Vegeta softly grunted as he once again turned the paper, studying it intently. Trunks opened up the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of soda, and popped the top of with his thumb before taking a swig. "I still don't think I understand why you seem concerned by this," he said, turning a chair around and sitting in it backwards. "I mean, you two do this every year."

"It's different this time," Vegeta responded. He quirked an eyebrow at his son's choice in beverage. "Since when do you trade your after work beer for an after work soda?"

"Since I got handed a report that needs to be thoroughly studied before a negotiations meeting tomorrow morning," he casually answered. "I can't mellow out until I get through that damn thing." He took another swig before placing the bottle on the table. He reached across and took the invitation out of his father's hands. "Seriously, Dad, why is this year's Daddy Daughter Dance any different from the last seven? You two have the routine down pat. You both tell Mom you're going, then sneak off to the other side of the planet to spar, eat junk food, and mock anyone with the last name Son. Then you come home, Bra tells a great story of how the evening would have gone, you just don't say anything, and everyone's happy."

Vegeta glared as he snatched the invitation back from his son. "I told you, it's different this time."

"How?"

With a sigh, Vegeta dropped the paper to the table. "Because this year, she actually wants to go."

That certainly surprised the young man. While his sister was certainly a princess in every sense of the term, she actually seemed to hate those social functions almost as much as their father did. It had actually been her idea to bail out on the dances, and as long as he had known her, she had never once stayed at a party until the end. As such, the concept of her wishing to go to such an even seemed downright odd.

Trying to hide just how desperately curious he was, Trunks took a small, slow sip from his beverage. "So what did you say when she asked you to go?"

"She hasn't."

Trunks almost dropped his drink. "She hasn't asked you to go yet?"

"No."

"Then how the hell do you know she actually wants to go?" he asked.

Vegeta got up from the table and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. "Because," he tensely answered, "every other time this damnable thing has come, she has come bounding into this house, grinning like an idiot before telling me. When she got home today, she was doing neither of those things."

Trunks shrugged. "Maybe she just had a lousy day at school," he pointed out. "Just because she's not bursting with energy doesn't mean that she's changed her mind."

The elder prince shook his head and slid the invitation to the middle of the table, turning it in his son's direction before flipping it over. Without saying a word, he tapped at the bottom of it. Trunks squinted and leaned in, taking a moment before realizing that he was looking at a fairly thoroughly erased message between his sister and someone else.

_You gonna go to this one?_ The anonymous person asked.

_Outlook not so good._ Bra responded.

_Why not? You actually seemed happy about the senior formal! Come on, why can't you drag your dad out for one night?_

There was nothing else written underneath that, but it was more than enough to get the message out. Bra really did want to go.

Trunks, sensing the unbelievable tension in the room, grabbed for his pocket. "Oh, would you look at that?" he said, glancing at his pager. "Sorry to leave you hanging, but I need to take this. Bye, Dad!"

"You've completely lost your skills as a liar!" Vegeta called out after his quickly retreating son.

Upstairs, Trunks knocked on his sister's bedroom door. "Hey, Bra, open up!"

When the door actually opened, Trunks knew something was wrong. Bra never just let someone in. There was always a fight of some sort about boundaries, privacy, or some crap like that. Plus, there was no music blaring behind her, another definite sign that his sister was not doing well.

"Geez, who died?"

Bra glared at her brother, but it lacked her usual intensity. "Is there something you needed, Trunks?"

The elder sibling brushed passed his sister before sitting in her lounge chair. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" he quickly started, assuming his business tone. "You left the invite somewhere you know Dad would find it, and you knew he was going to see that message."

Bra looked to the side as she leaned against the door frame. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bra, I really don't have time for this," Trunks cut in. "I have a lot I have to get done before tomorrow. You left it out because you were hoping that you would guilt trip Dad into asking _you_ if you wanted to go. That way, you could get to go without having to risk hearing him say no."

The younger sister shrugged one shoulder. "I know it was lame, but I thought it was worth a shot. I mean, it's not like I can flat out ask him."

"Bra, just because he might say no…"

"I can't ask him because he'll say _yes!_" she interrupted.

After blinking in confusion for a moment, Trunks pinched the ridge of his brow in frustration. "So, let me get this straight: you want to go to the Daddy Daughter Dance, but you're not asking Dad because he'll agree to take you?"

"Of course!"

Trunks got to his feet and shook his head, uttering only the phrase, "Unbelievable," as he left her room. Sometimes, his family made absolutely no sense to him.

/

Three days later, an extremely haggered and exhausted Trunks burst forth from his room and stomped back over to Bra's. His clothes were rumpled, his face was unshaven, and it was obvious that he had not slept well in at least a couple of nights. Without bothering to knock, he barged into his sister's room and grabbed her.

"Hey!" she screamed out. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Trunks grunted as he tried to keep his struggling sister within his grasp. "I'm fixing your problem."

"The only problem I have," she shouted, trying to fight her brother every step of the way, "is that you are an absolute _lunatic!_"

Trunks hissed as his sister's elbow slammed into his side. "Holy crap," he wheezed, "this was a lot easier before that fight with Pan…"

Bra whipped her head around and glared furiously at her brother. "Trunks, you put me down right now, I will be driving the heel of my very expensive shoes right into your…"

"No you won't," he grunted back, dragging her down the staircase. "You know the house rule: I have to play nice, but you nail me there and all bets are off. Not even Dad can save you."

Throwing her head back in frustration, Bra screamed and powered up. She had never reached the level of Super Saiyan, but Trunks was certainly struggling enough with her to make the jump himself.

Four seconds later, Vegeta was beside them. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

"Oh, good, you're here," Trunks grunted, turning so that his sister faced their father. He dropped her unceremoniously, and just barely managed to catch the fist that instantly went flying for his face. "You two need to be here so we can talk."

With fire in her eyes, Bra kept swinging for her abductor. "If you wanted me to talk, you asshole," she screamed, "then _don't kidnap me!_"

Remaining perfectly calm, Trunks walked into the nearby living room. "If you'll just have a seat, we can begin."

Vegeta snorted. "Do not take that tone with me, boy," he warned. "I am not some idiotic human you are pitching a marketing idea to, and you will not treat me as one."

Trunks immediately turned bright red. "Then would you settle for a please, Dad?"

"I'm not doing it," Bra bit out. "No one gets to break into my room and drag my ass through the house if they want me to do anything for them."

"Okay, fine, don't sit," Trunks shot back, more than a little agitated. "Either way, there is something we need to talk about!"

Simultaneously, father and daughter took two menacing steps forward, crossed their arms, and glared with calculating anger and the lavender haired prince before them.

Trunks swallowed and took a cautious step backwards. "Okay, that was…creepy," he muttered. He shook himself out of it before clearing his throat. "Now, I know that you've both had concerns about the events of next Saturday night…"

"_That's_ why you kidnapped me?" Bra gawked. "Because of the Daddy Daughter Dance? Damn it, Trunks, that doesn't even concern you!"

"I know," Trunks calmly said, once again slipping into his business mode, "but I think I may have found a solution to your problem…"

"There is no problem to speak of," Vegeta countered.

Trunks refused to give up. "Yes, there is, and I'm here to help you two fix it! Now, I've come up with a handful of potential solutions…"

"Are you kidding me?" Bra bit out.

Vegeta glanced over at his daughter before returning his focus to his son. "Let me get this straight," he coolly began. "You saw that there was a potential communication conflict between your sister and myself, and your solution to this conflict was to not talk to either of us for three days straight, kidnap her, and try to force a resolution of your choosing down our throats?" He shook his head before grumbling, "You really are your mother's son."

Trunks, feeling more sheepish than ever, fought a losing battle to maintain his composure. "Well, you don't _have_ to take any of them," he began to backpedal. "But I have found what I believe a few mutually beneficial answers to…"

"Trunks," Bra interrupted with a huff, "you can stop right there."

"But…"

"No," the princess firmly went on, "you get to listen now. If you had taken two minutes out of your life in the last two and a half days instead of holing yourself away to work like Gohan, you would know that this is old news."

The elder sibling blinked, once again confused. "Wait…what?"

Bra glanced over at their father, but Vegeta simply gave her a nod. "Go for it."

With a smirk on her face, the blue haired beauty whipped in her brother's direction, her hair flying as she squared her shoulders. "We got that figured out days ago, genius. We talked to each other, we figured out _our_ solution, and we have no problems of any kind. Now why don't you go upstairs, shave for the first time in three days, and try to enjoy what little time you have before your next boring as hell meeting?"

Trunks seemed rendered speechless. The whole concept of his father and sister actually _communicating_ to solve a problem was downright baffling. They were not askers. They did not compromise. When they wanted something, they demanded it. If they were uncertain about something, they avoided it.

How the hell did they manage to _talk_ their way through?

He swallowed what little saliva was in his mouth as his brain slowly began to come back online. "Um, how…when…which…"

"Cool," Bra said, smirking at her bewildered brother, "I broke his brain!" She walked over to her father and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm going shopping. I'll see you guys at dinner!"

Vegeta offered a simple "Hn," before leaving to resume his day's training. And poor Trunks still seemed too baffled to function for almost an hour to come.

/

"I still can't believe that something _that simple_ actually broke his brain!" Bra giggled, licking her ice cream cone.

Vegeta smirked at his daughter, popping the last little bit of his own treat in his mouth. "I told you it would," he chuckled.

Still giggling, Bra used one hand to grab a bag of Skittles. She placed the end of it between her ball-gown coated legs, pinched off a corner, and began placing the candies on her ice cream. "It's just so unbelievably awesome that such a simple plan could unfurl him so much!" She nibbled on her newly adorned treat, grinning ear to ear.

"I have told you two for years that the greatest way to get revenge on someone is to make them do it to themselves," he responded, reaching into their mutual snack bag.

"And you were right," Bra agreed, wiping a smudge of mint chocolate chip off her nose. "All we had to do was offer him the set up, and he spent every minute of the last three days obsessing over them. But how did you know that something like the Daddy Daughter Dance would get _Trunks_, of all people, all worked up?"

Vegeta chuckled. "Because," he explained, "he is exactly like your mother when it comes to other people's business. If it involves him directly, he'll spend five minutes on it and coast the rest of the way through. If it doesn't involve him, but someone wants help, he'll spend hours on it. And if it has nothing to do with him, and no one has asked for help, he'll slave over it until he finds a way to fix it." He shook his head. "Nothing gets those two involved like implying that they're not needed."

The teenaged girl laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Thanks for helping me get back at him for stealing my diary."

The prince leaned his cheek on the top of his daughter's head. "You know you can always count on me for revenge."

"Plus," Bra added, "since we bribed the photographer to take our picture before anyone else even got there, and it's not like anyone else at the senior dance would have any reason to talk to our family, we have the picture Mom wanted to 'commemorate the evening'. I got this gorgeous new gown, you didn't have to be stuck in a room full of humans for three hours, Mom gets her picture, and Trunks' head hurts." The girl sat up, grabbed the soda at her side and raised it in a toast. "To our complete success!"

Vegeta matched her gesture with a smirk. "Long live our victories."

After taking a sip, Bra began to snicker again. "I can't believe Trunks fell for the writing on that invitation," she giggled. "It's almost as mind blowing as the fact that you can imitate teenage girl handwriting!"

"Hey!" Vegeta shot back. "The terms and conditions of this evening clearly state that you were to never speak of that again!"

Again, Bra giggled. "Hey, Daddy?"

"Hn?"

The girl once again rested her head on her father's shoulder. "Thanks for the best Daddy Daughter Dance ever."


	17. Business v Pleasure

Trunks ate his cereal calmly and slowly, not taking in even half of what he normally did. He was hungry, famished even, but he was not willing to risk splashing any milk on the table. It was near covered with pile after pile of folders, each crammed to the gills with documents. And the risk of accidentally damaging one of those documents was not something that the young prince was willing to take. It would mean certain death.

Across the table, the boy's father calmly sipped from a mug of coffee. To the casual observer, there was nothing odd about the action. However, Trunks knew that the elder prince was following the same protocols that he was. No risk of damage was to be taken. Not if either of them wanted to survive.

Bulma grumbled as she grabbed at a stack of paperwork on the kitchen table. "I swear to the gods, I am going to murder someone."

"You want some pointers?" Vegeta responded, taking another sip.

The heiress glared daggers at her husband. "Does this seem like the time to be joking?" she hissed.

The prince shrugged one shoulder. "Who said I was joking?" he honestly answered. "I could teach you a thousand ways to deal with this problem…"

"Thanks," Bulma sarcastically bit out. Angrily, she flipped open the documents in her hand and analyzed them. "I cannot believe what those worthless, pitiful, spiteful, mother fu…"

"Hey, Mom?" Trunks interrupted, trying to stop her before she got too far into her rant. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think you need to get going if you want to get the presentation set up before the meeting begins."

The scientist glared at her nine year old son, but she did wordlessly grab another folder and marched toward her offices.

Trunks slumped back into his chair and sighed. "I think Mom might actually blow a gasket on this one."

Vegeta simply stood up and placed his mug on the one spot on the counter that was not covered in paperwork. He shook his head and glanced over his shoulder at his son. "You better be ready for this exercise," he growled.

The younger prince nodded. "Oh, I'm ready. I've been preparing nonstop. It's not like we've been able to leave the house in a while…"

The woman had been under a huge amount of stress over the past few weeks. One of her employees, one who had to be fairly high up in power, had been leaking schematics and ideas to her competitors. Judging by the amount of information they had, it had been going on for months. As such, many of Capsule Corps ideas were showing up in alternate production lines before their own. They were inferior in quality, having not been held to the standards of the Briefs, but it was enough to seriously cut in to the bottom line.

It was also an immense betrayal to Bulma, one that she was not taking lightly. As soon as she figured out what was going on, she stopped sharing information with others in the company. All ideas came from her own head, since no one else could be trusted. All personnel that worked within the living quarters had been put on immediate sabbatical. Everything was written out by hand and kept in the family kitchen, ensuring that nothing could be hacked and no one outside of her own family could even get close. On her own, she had analyzed, in unbelievable detail, anyone who could possibly be the leak.

She had narrowed it down to seven suspects, but for the life of her, she could not pick out exactly which one it was. The purpose of the meeting she was going to was an attempt to find out, once and for all, who had betrayed her. She was going to put forth a 'new idea', and she was hoping that something in their reactions would give someone away.

/

Bulma glared around the room, listening intently as the greetings were issued among her underlings. She had been there for two hours, setting up cameras, microphones, and projectors to help her narrow down her search. So far, no one had done anything to give themselves away, but the meeting was young yet. She was almost sure that by the end of it, she could at least narrow down her list.

"Gentlemen," she calmly stated, getting to her feet, "the time has come for us to begin. Now, I'm sure that some of you are wondering why…"

That was as far as she got before the intercom sounded. "_Ma'am?"_ the secretary's voice nervously called out. _"I'm sorry, I tried to stop them, but…_" The conference room doors opened and the two princes casually entered as the woman finished up, "_…you have guests."_

Bulma's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as her husband and son approached her. "What the hell are you two doing here?" she hissed lowly.

"A training exercise," her husband very casually responded.

Somehow, Bulma managed to narrow her eyes even further. "Are you two out of your flipping _minds_?"

"Oh, don't worry about it, Mom," Trunks casually replied, pulling two empty chairs off to the side. "We won't interrupt. Dad just thought that it would be good training for my future to sit in on an important meeting and see what goes on."

The heiress shifted her eyes solely on her husband and instantly deduced that her son was not being honest. However, picking one of her legendary fights with her husband was not something she wanted to do with an audience, especially not since there were hidden cameras everywhere. "You interrupt," she quietly told them, keeping her voice low enough for the others to not hear her, "you die. I don't care how powerful you are, I will find a way."

"Duly noted," Vegeta smugly replied, taking a seat. "By all means, continue."

Huffing, Bulma turned from her family to her employees. "Anyway," she grumbled to her audience, "I have been working on a top secret new idea for our company."

"Why have you kept this idea so secretive?" one of the men asked.

"Ooh, defensive," Trunks stage whispered to his father. "He jumped on that too quickly. There's something he hasn't been honest about."

The entire room froze as they stared at the boy. The man Trunks had commented on glared at the boy. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Trunks popped a capsule, grabbed the full popcorn bucket from within, and tossed a handful into his mouth. "I said you were defensive," he repeated, chewing on his snack. "Snap demands like that are usually made by those with insecurities they have over something they deem as a mistake in their life. Personally, I think you're tense because of the fact that you're cheating on your wife."

The man turned red in the face. "How dare you accuse me of…"

"That is it, right, Dad?" Trunks asked his father, ignoring the red faced man.

"Explain your reasoning," the father calmly replied.

Trunks popped another handful of popcorn into his mouth. "Well, he has a personal history of extramarital affairs, as did his father before him. He's gone on a lot of trips lately that he claims are for business, but Mom hasn't mentioned anything about needing people in other areas. Oh, and the skin peaking out under his watch is paler than the skin I can see under his wedding ring, meaning that he spends more time without his ring than he does without the watch. In fact, his ring line is barely visible at all, meaning he hardly ever wears it outside."

Vegeta nodded, smirking at the angered man. "Perfect shot. Care to add anything else?"

The man quickly bled from red to white as the child's words sunk in. "How did you know about my travel or my history?" he demanded. He turned to Bulma, beginning to change back to a reddish shade. "Are you spying on us?"

Before the heiress had a chance to answer, Trunks snorted. "How hard do you think it is for a nine year old with internet access to dig up dirt on someone?" he laughed. "All I had to do was type your name into any of the dozens of search engines out there."

Everyone in the room stared at the child, all wishing for an explanation but none willing to ask. Fortunately for them, the child was intuitive.

Trunks casually shrugged again, eating yet another handful of popcorn. "Well, I'm going to be the boss here someday. I'm going to have to work with a lot of people and go to a lot of meetings and stuff. It seems to be a good idea for me to know what, exactly, happens in them." He tossed another handful into his mouth. "And if I'm going to have meetings with people, it just made sense to know something about them." He chewed loudly and waved off the members of the meeting. "Enough about me. Go ahead with your meeting!"

Everyone stared at the father and son, save Bulma, who was flat out glaring at them. "Don't you two need to be somewhere?" she growled.

"No," father and son answered in perfect unison, each taking a handful of their snack.

Bulma glared at them for a second longer, but once again resigned herself to their presence. They had set up shop, and it was not worth the public fight it would take to remove them. "So back to the design…" No one was willing to interrupt the woman again, and it gave Bulma a chance to formally get the 'meeting' underway. And through it, Trunks and Vegeta ate their popcorn and observed. About fifteen minutes into it, Trunks tugged at his father's sleeve.

"Why is that guy glaring at mom?" he asked.

Vegeta considered his son's question before responding to his son. "Give me three reasons."

Trunks narrowed his eyes slightly as he thought about it. "He's mad at her, his glasses have the wrong prescription, or he's...he's...damn it, I can't think of a third one!"

"Think about it, boy."

The boy sent a pitiful look in his father's direction. "Because he has a headache?" he pitched.

Vegeta snorted. "A feeble third attempt, but I'll let it slide this once."

"Well, it's possible!" the child insisted. "The last time Mom had a headache, we all thought she was pissed off at us!"

The elder prince rolled his eyes. "In case you forgot, boy, she was," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but that's not why she was glaring!" Trunks responded. His eyes switched over to his mother and pointed. "See, _that_ is a glare out of anger!" he stated.

True enough, it was. Bulma's look was one of pure anger. While she lacked the physical power to inflict that sort of damage, she was more than capable of making both of their lives a living hell. As such, the two princes shut up, and fast.

Not for long, though. Four minutes later, Trunks nudged his father again. "Um, Dad?" he softly whispered. "Why isn't the one third from the left looking at Mom's face when she talks?"

"Oh, no," Vegeta quickly responded. "I get two more years before I am obligated to have that particular conversation with you."

Bulma, who had been listening to both her employees and her family, cracked a hint of a smile. Several more minutes passed, and the members of the meeting, save their chief, seemed to forget about the two Saiyans observing them. After a while, Vegeta prodded his son. "Tell me what conclusions you have drawn about the one in the back corner," he commanded.

Trunks analyzed him, carefully. "He has fantastic reflexes."

Again, Vegeta rolled his eyes. "I meant something relevant to the business."

"That is relevant!" the nine year old pushed. "Check out his reflection in the wall! He's shifting from note taking to an MMORPG seamlessly, and he's doing both _well!_"

Vegeta decided to see where his son would go with it. "How is his ability to do that important?"

"He's a master at multi-tasking," Trunks reasoned. "It would be good to have someone like that on because they could handle multiple projects at the same time without compromising the quality of work in either of them."

"However..."

"However," Trunks did conclude, "the fact that he's moving from note taking to game playing in a high class meeting, and that he's using the company servers to increase his online speed, indicates that he's not entirely serious. But personally, if he's getting the job done, and he's doing it well, I think I could let that slide."

Vegeta slowly nodded. "Fair enough."

The pair continued to keep watch on the meeting. They were both more than slightly impressed with the amount of command that Bulma held over the room of men. She was keeping her own vigilant watch on the crew, trusting her husband and son to understand the importance of her mission and not interrupt.

Unless, of course, they had a good reason.

Once more, Trunks tugged on his father's sleeve. "Hey, Dad?" he asked, once again in a stage whisper. "The guy in the corner isn't paying any attention. He's just doodling in the margins of the packet Mom handed out and writing down stuff that has nothing to do with the meeting."

"I know," Vegeta casually replied. "What does that tell you?"

Trunks seemed to consider it for a moment. "Well, it's one of three things that I can think of. One, he just doesn't care. That doesn't seem likely, though, because he's one of Mom's top men, and she wouldn't hire someone who was a goof off."

"True," Vegeta agreed. "What else could it be?"

"Well, it's possible that he just has moderate to severe ADD," the younger prince reasoned out loud. "I mean, he would hardly be the first engineer to have some form of it. It is possible that he is extremely gifted as a scientist but just no good at meetings."

Vegeta simply nodded. "Do you think that it is a likely explanation?"

Trunks thought about it for a moment before shrugging. "Don't know," he admitted. "I suppose it is possible. But I don't know why someone who doesn't function well at meetings would be invited to them."

"What else might it be?"

The lavender topped boy sucked a kernel out from his teeth. "Since he doesn't appear to be taking notes," he deduced, "then it would make sense that he has some kind of audio recording device set up, allowing him to retain all the information without needing to physically write it down. But that would be weird."

Vegeta glanced down at his son. "And why might it be weird?"

"Well, I don't see one," Trunks pseudo complained. "I mean, why would someone not take out their recording device? If it was set up inside anything, even a jacket, the sound would get at least a little distorted. It just seems stupid to not set it up on the table, especially if you aren't taking supplemental notes. Plus, there are visual aspects that are not being covered in the spoken word. His recorder should be one that takes video, and there is no way to have an ideal video position without it being obvious. I mean, I guess if you wanted to _hide_ a recording device, that would be one thing, but why on earth would someone need to hide it?"

The man in question immediately began to sweat, hearing every word the little prince spoke. His heart rate began to race as he realized that every member of that boardroom was carefully, and not subtly, looking at him. However, he chose to pretend that nothing was wrong and kept his eyes on his boss.

Trunks looked up at his father, and the two exchanged a smirk. "Seriously, Dad," Trunks went on, no longer keeping his voice low, "he's got to be either the worst employee in the world or he's got a hidden camera in his watch or his pen…maybe a cufflink. That could do it. But I still don't get why someone would try to do that all secret like. He shouldn't have to unless he doesn't want anyone to know he has it, and he has clearance to have one."

Vegeta's eyes locked with the now sweat covered man, and his smirk deepened. "So why, boy, would someone want to keep from being identified as someone with a video of these plans?"

Trunks pulled his chair closer to the table so he could put his feet up on it. He popped another capsule and pulled out two sodas, handing one to his father. "To have a copy to sell off to someone else while eliminating themselves as a suspect in an investigation," he proudly explained. The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a scanner. "How much you want to bet that when I turn this on, we detect an electronic device other than the ones Mom set up?"

"Not a dime," his father answered. "I would not take that wager."

The man actually began to tremble and fidget with his pen as the child flipped on the scanner and aimed it. As he shook, the boy let out a mock gasp. "Gee, look at that!" he hammed up. "I'm picking up a signal from, let's see here…the tiepin and the temple of his glasses!"

Every other set of eyes in the room furiously focused on the nervous man. "How could you?" another person asked.

"Who were you selling to?" another demanded.

Trunks waved his hand, regaining attention. "Oh, I can answer that one, too!" he beamed. "I got even money on our top three competitors. Just look at their latest production lines."

The six other patrons of the meeting swarmed the traitor among them. They screamed, they yelled, they threatened with everything from lawsuits to decapitation. Among the chaos, Bulma slowly slid her way over to her husband and son. "I could have done this on my own," she growled.

"We know," Trunks quickly agreed. "We just thought that six eyes were better than two, and that it's fun to play with people's heads."

The heiress rolled her eyes. "And you were able to deduce that he was the spy based on doodles on a notepad?" she whispered.

Bashfully, Trunks looked at the fray and away from his mother. "Um, we may have read all of your research and compiled databases to analyze your top suspects, melding your information with our own independent research."

Bulma turned her head slowly toward her husband. "I'm noticing the word 'we' being thrown around a lot here," she responded with a smirk.

"Training exercise," were the only words the Saiyan spoke.

"Right," she responded, rolling her eyes again. "Training." Totally ignoring the uproarious scene going on in the boardroom, she kissed each of them on the cheek. "I do enjoy it when you two decide to 'train' together."

The Saiyan princes wordlessly clinked their bottles and took synchronous swigs in a wordless toast to their victory.


	18. An Education

"You cannot possibly be serious."

Bulma rolled her eyes as she shrugged her way into her work jacket. "Vegeta, it is not that big a deal. It'll be fine."

The Saiyan prince hardly seemed convinced. "It will not end well. You are setting this up to be an utter disaster."

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen," the heiress responded, adjusting her shoulder length hair.

"I am not!" the prince angrily insisted. "This is a terrible idea!"

Grabbing her purse off of the kitchen table, Bulma shook her head. "Well, you may not like the plan, but it's the only one I've got, so you'll just have to live with it."

"Then get a new idea!" Vegeta shouted.

"Why, what was the old one?"

The quarreling pair looked up to see their teenage son entering the kitchen. Bulma made one final adjustment to her outfit, clearly prepared to walk away from the issue. "It's nothing."

"It's insane!" her husband countered.

Trunks looked confused. "Um, what, exactly, is it?"

Vegeta shot a deathly glare to his wife. "Me taking your little sister to her first day of kindergarten."

The young prince blinked as he processed the information. He turned to his mother and said, in a very firm tone, "That's a terrible idea!"

Bulma simply waved off her boys. "Look," she argued, "I tried to reschedule this meeting, but the investors weren't open at any other times. It had to be today, and it had to be now. The school mandated that at least one parent be present for each child for a simple ten minute orientation, and since Mommy is busy, Daddy is going."

"Yes, because sending Dad into a room filled with obnoxious toddlers and bored stay-at-home moms is a terrific idea," the teenager sarcastically responded.

The heiress huffed as she made her way through the door. "Sorry," she answered, not sounding the least bit remorseful, "but this is the only option. It's only a few minutes, and then it will be done and over with." Not even bothering to look back at her family, she waved and called out, "Good bye and good luck!"

As she confidently and casually left the room, father and son were left speechless. While the woman had often suggested similar ideas in the past, she had never actually been able to go through with it. Vegeta did not mix well with humans, plain and simple. If there was a human centered event, he opted not to go. Logic always won out in the end, and no matter how hard she would fight, Bulma always ended up at least going along as 'supervisor'.

But she had left. Without so much as a glance, she had left. No instructions, no pleading, no tips of advice, nothing. That woman had simply abandoned them to their fate.

After several seconds of silence, Trunks cleared his throat. "Um, does Bra know about this yet?"

"No," his father tersely responded.

Trunks took a breath and nodded. Another moment of silence passed before he finally asked, "Can I be there when you tell her?"

He barely managed to duck out of the way of the fist flying at his head. "I'll take that as a no," he eagerly replied, already moving for the door, "but I'm going to be there anyway!"

"Why you little…"

Under normal circumstances, Vegeta would have not had any trouble at all tracking down and stopping his boy. However, trying to catch him without actually damaging the compound gave the little brat an advantage that the senior prince did not care for. That slight head start the teenager had was just enough to get him to his little sister's room first.

Trunks barged in, disregarding his sister's privacy completely. "Hi, Bra!" he energetically greeted.

The little princess quirked an eyebrow at her older brother. Trunks was never that eager when around her. He could certainly be nice enough, if he had to be, but he was never _that_ energetic about it. Of course, even at the age of five, Bra was smart enough to know that a change in her brother's demeanor, coupled with their father's very moody appearance, meant Trunks was up to no good.

"What did you do this time?" the cute little girl demanded.

Trunks, still panting from his dead sprint, made sure he was well within the room. Any position near a door or window might get him launched out, but a firm position next to his sister's prized furniture would, at least temporarily, provide sanctuary. "Oh, nothing," he casually responded. "Can't a big brother come see how his baby sister is doing before her first day of school?"

Bra huffed and crossed her arms. "First, I'm not a baby," she firmly corrected. "Second, you're always up to something. And third, Daddy looks like you're in a heap of trouble."

"Worth it," the young prince smiled, taking a seat in the plush pink chair. "Now, Dad, I believe there's something we need to tell Bra."

"That by the end of the day, she won't have a brother?" their father darkly replied. Trunks, though, was completely unfazed. After a lifetime of those comments, they did not mean a thing to him.

Bra smirked. "When Trunks dies, can I get Goten? He plays better."

That got to the boy. "Hey, I'm a great game player!" he insisted. "You only want Goten because you can boss him around and he'll do anything you ask!"

"Well, duh," the little girl called back with an eye roll. "That's what makes him great. Now why is Daddy going to kill you?"

With a cocky smirk, Trunks turned to their father. "Yes, Dad, what was it that you were going to tell our dear little Bra?" As his father began to make a threatening move, Trunks quickly snatched up his sister's favorite doll. Again, it was not a permanent shield, but it would last him just long enough.

Giving his son another glare, Vegeta slowly brought his full attention to his daughter. "I will be taking you to your classes today," he bluntly informed her.

All of the color swiftly left Bra's face. "Um…why?" she nervously asked.

"Because your mother is an idiot," Vegeta mumbled, leaning against the doorframe.

A slight hint of red began to overtake the white on her face, and Bra huffed her bangs away from her eyes. "She must be!" the little girl enthusiastically agreed. "That's the stupidest idea I've heard since Trunks and Goten tried to…"

"Aw, aren't you cute?" Trunks growled, clamping his hand over his kid sister's mouth. "So, I guess I should let you two get ready for a glorious morning full of tea and toddlers."

With fire burning in her eyes, Bra grabbed her big brother's wrist firmly and yanked her small body up and over his arm, allowing her cute little foot to collide solidly with his cheek. As her brother hollered in pain, the princess did a graceful flip down onto her bed. She adjusted her dress, patted her braid to ensure that it was still perfect, and smirked. "I," she announced, "am not a toddler." With a firm stance, she faced her father. "Are you really going to take me to school?"

"Do you doubt me?" the father challenged.

With all sincerity, the girl shook her head. "No," she answered, "but I know how much you don't like leaving home, and I know how much you don't like most humans. It doesn't make any sense for you to go. You'll hate it."

"I will likely dislike the others there," Vegeta agreed, "but you are my priority, not them." He backed through the doorway, his arms still folded, and gave his head a mild incline. "Now haul it. If I have to _drive_, then we need to leave now."

"Yes, Daddy," the little princess obeyed, grabbing her bag and heading for the door. Behind her, Trunks staggered to his feet.

"Hey!" the teenager shouted, still cradling his injured face. "That's it? That's the entire ordeal? Come on!"

Offering her brother a cool stare, Bra casually slid her pink backpack onto her shoulders. "Gee, sorry," she sarcastically shot. "I guess Daddy and I have better things to do than put on a show for you." She turned and strode out the door with confidence, every step as solid as the last.

Hovering behind, Vegeta rolled his eyes. "You've lost your edge," he told his son.

"What?" Trunks gaped. "How?"

Sauntering after his daughter, Vegeta shook his head. "You just got your ass handed to you by a five year old."

Fuming behind them, Trunks stepped into the hallway and shook his fist angrily in their wake. "I hope today sucks for you just as much as we think it will!"

/

As the car pulled into the parking spot, Bra fidgeted slightly. "You know, Daddy, it's okay if you don't want to go inside," she quietly told him. "I'm old enough to do this on my own."

The prince would have been lying if he said he was not sorely tempted to take his daughter up on her offer. There was very little he disliked more than having to peacefully interact with the majority of the human race. Over the years, he had found a scant handful that he could tolerate. Most, though, left him thinking that he would be doing the universe a favor if he annihilated them.

"Nonsense," he responded, sounding much more firm about it than he felt. "A prince should never back down from an obligation. I told you I would take you, and that is exactly what will happen."

Father and daughter approached their destination, both maintaining a slower pace than usual. The door to the classroom was already swarmed by mothers and small children, and neither father nor daughter seemed particularly eager to join the fray. In fact, the several screaming, sobbing children had both of them contemplating outright abandoning the situation. They never said it, though. Bra, like her father before her, was a proud person. She would not back down from a challenge, no matter what. And so, refusing to tarnish their immaculate pride, they strode hand in hand in to the already swamped room.

Bra's eyes bulged out slightly as she observed the chaos going on before her. While most of the children were crying and clinging to their parents for dear life, a handful had chosen to run wild. They chased each other, threw things, screamed…all things that Bra found to be most undignifying.

"This is school?" she whispered, clearly not believing it.

Vegeta also cast a skeptical, yet disgusted, look upon the scene. "So it would appear," he told his daughter.

As the two tried to make sense of the situation, an extremely frazzled young woman scurried up to the front of the room. "Hello!" she greeted. She was attempting to force a cheery attitude, but it was obvious that she was just exhausted. "I'm happy to meet all of you. I'm Mrs. Williams, and I will be your kindergarten teacher this year. Now, I need all the boys and girls to take a seat at the desk that has their name on it."

Bra glanced up at her father, looking for approval. He offered her a mild nod and let go of her small hand. The little princess made a beeline for her prearranged seat, sat down, and folded her hands politely on top of the desk. The other children slowly followed suit, though there were several who needed help identifying their own names. That did not go unnoticed by the Saiyans.

"Very good," the teacher praised, clapping her hands together. "Parents, we have some chairs in the back. Please take a seat so I can welcome you all to the first day of school!"

Vegeta turned his head just enough to see the chairs. True, they were there, but they were clearly created for small children. There was no way in hell he was going to use furniture that looked like a toy. While a very real part of him wanted to tell the teacher as much, he opted to just quietly lean against the wall. Bitching out the teacher in front of that large an audience would not accomplish anything. _It is only for ten minutes_, he reasoned, fighting to keep himself in check. _There is no point in humiliating the girl before she even begins._

Mrs. Williams noticed him and opened her mouth to say something, but one of his more intense glares got her to back down. "Um, okay," the young woman nervously said. She turned her focus on the rest of the room, trying to ignore the incredibly intimidating man in the corner. "So, welcome to your first day of kindergarten…"

She gave an overly polite talk to the families, though she seemed to be addressing the entire room as though they were small children. Vegeta tuned her out, choosing to contemplate better things like how he was going to get revenge on his wife for getting him there in the first place.

"…now we have some refreshments in the back," the teacher concluded, smiling tiredly at the parents, "so boys and girls, why don't you go find your mommies and daddies and have a little treat with them before we start our brand new day!"

After years of zoning out when Bulma went on and on about a topic he could not have cared less about (usually involving her wardrobe), Vegeta managed to snap out of his self-imposed trance on cue. His daughter approached him and took his hand, signaling that she had something secret to tell him. He knelt down to listen.

"They're all really weird," she whispered, glancing over at her teacher.

"True," Vegeta quietly answered, smirking at his daughter, "but you know the family rule."

Bra nodded firmly, a serious look on her face. "Don't tell Mommy that humans are weird," she whispered, "and don't break the other children."

Vegeta chuckled and stood up. Thus far, it had not been a terrible experience. Not enjoyable, but by no means as torturous as he had been expecting. Without direct interaction without any of the humans, the experience was tolerable. If he had any luck at all, he could get out the door before anything else happened.

"Well, we don't get many fathers here!" a voice called out.

Quietly groaning, Vegeta closed his eyes. It had not escaped him upon his entrance that he was the only adult male in the room, but there was a small part of him hoping that no one else had figured it out. He turned to the woman, the mother of another student, and gave her a stony look without a verbal response.

Two more women gathered around the first. "Is that your little girl?" one of them asked, looking down at Bra.

The five year old rolled her eyes. "No, I'm just a loaner," she replied with a straight face. "The real one is still in the shop."

While the women were temporarily stunned, Vegeta smirked down at his daughter. _That's my girl…_

"She's so cute!" a new woman gushed, heading over. She got extremely close, and Bra took a cautious step backwards, getting her back flush against her father's leg. "Aw, she's shy! How adorable!"

"How about you back off?" Vegeta sternly countered. He did not appreciate how close this woman was to his daughter, and if she did not move voluntarily, he would be happy to relocate her.

The woman blinked, caught off guard, but she did comply. "Well, your daughter is absolutely beautiful," she insisted.

"I am certain your own was thrilled to hear you say that," the prince responded, nodding toward an unhappy looking girl standing behind the invading woman. The woman looked down in just enough time to watch her daughter burst into tears, and quickly whisked her outside to try to resolve the situation.

Bra had to fight to keep from snickering. While she found it very funny that her daddy had a knack for turning what people said back at them, she knew that she was supposed to be on her best behavior. Or, if nothing else, just not bad enough to separate her from the herd.

One of the other mothers, one who wore a particularly short skirt coupled with an extremely low cut top, smirked as she approached the prince. "Rough around the edges but caring enough to come for his daughter," she leered. "I like that."

"Gee, what a special day for me," he sneered.

At his side, a more confident Bra crossed her arms and nodded, looking up at her father. "It's a dear diary moment," she sarcastically agreed.

The woman seemed undeterred. "Ooh, spunk runs in the family," she praised. She kept her eyes on the prince and gave him a very suggestive look. "You know, I'm a single parent too. I know how hard it can be to meet…"

"Who the hell told you I was a single parent?" Vegeta demanded, clearly disgusted with the woman before him.

Still confident, the woman pointed to his left hand. "Honey, it's pretty obvious."

Bra stepped forward and glared at the aggressive woman. "Listen, lady," she sternly lectured in a loud, commanding tone, "my daddy and my mommy love each other very much and will always be together. Mommy and Daddy both do a lot of things that would break a ring, so they don't wear them, but that doesn't mean they don't love each other. So you get away from my daddy or I'm gonna make you!"

The entire room fell silent. Even the other children stopped talking, though they were not fully aware of what their peer had just said. Across the room, the teacher nervously swallowed. "Oh, sweetie," she gently explained, "I don't think that she was trying to do anything."

"Yes, she was!" the five year old girl insisted. "That's what all the ladies do when Daddy is somewhere without Mommy! They all think that because he doesn't have a ring on that they can do that to him!"

Vegeta could feel his cheeks turning red, but he forced himself to maintain as stoic an expression as he could manage.

Bra pointed an accusatory finger at the woman. "She's trying to hit on my daddy!" she went on. "She's being a…a…what was the word Mommy used? Oh, yeah. She's a skank!"

Another moment of silence, one that was immediately followed by a round of laughter from the other women. One of the other children looked confused and tugged on his mother's pant leg. "What's a skank?" he sincerely asked.

"Yeah," another chimed in, "what does skank mean?"

As the other parents in the room attempted to give their children a vocabulary lesson, Vegeta pulled Bra away. "Nice choice of wording," he told her.

Bra smirked up at her father. "Well, it was either that, or all the ones that Grandma insists are French." She got him to kneel down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "No one gets my daddy but me and Mommy!"

"You know, you do have a brother…"

Bra pouted. "Fine. Him to. But no one else!" She looked up and saw the teacher standing near them, and the little princess took a firm stance. She knew that she was probably in trouble, but it was worth it to keep some mean lady away from her daddy.

Mrs. Williams opened her mouth to talk to the girl, but Vegeta got back to his feet and intervened. "I have already discussed her use of language with her," he informed the teacher, opting not to tell her that he had actually praised the girl for it. "I can assure you she will not use that word in your presence again."

The teacher, looking even more exhausted than before, just nodded and turned back to the chaos that was her classroom. Bra snickered quietly, once again pulling her father down to her level. "Thank you, Daddy."

Vegeta smirked at his daughter. "Just keep the terror to a minimum for the next few days," he counseled. "Try to go longer than Trunks did before we get a call from the principal. It will spare your mother an aneurism."

Giggling again, Bra nodded. "I promise to go at least two weeks before getting sent to the principal's office." She gave her father a big hug and whispered, "I'm glad you're the one who took me to school today."

The prince gave her a kiss on the temple. While he would probably not tell his wife, and _certainly_ not tell his son, he, too, was glad he went.

Her reaction alone was worth it.


	19. Happy Birthday

Trunks sat on the edge of his bed, anxiously rubbing his hands together. It was the same position he had been in over the course of the past two hours. He had been thinking about actually going out of his room for hours, but his brain was apparently not able to make that connection with his legs. The teenager knew he could not hide in his room forever. He knew that he was going to have to face the facts.

His mother was calling him again. She had been doing that for a while, but he had been blocking her out as much as possible. Perhaps she was too busy to actually walk all the way up to his bedroom. And since his door was locked, there was going to be very little she could do to force him out.

Unless she brought his father...

That was where the trouble was in the first place. Trunks could not face his father, no matter how hard he tried. He had found out the truth the day before, and Trunks had been avoiding the man ever since. Keeping tabs on his father's energy round the clock was significantly more draining than the young prince had thought it would be. Vegeta was one of the great powerhouses of the universe, let alone the Earth. His energy stood out clearly in contrast to a human's.

However, Trunks had never actually tried to be fanatically aware of where one specific person was before. Finding someone was easy, but never letting go was exhausting. His head hurt, and his own energy was low, but Trunks refused to give up his vigil.

Fate was rarely on his side, though, and that day was no different. Trunks could sense clearly as his mother's energy rapidly approached his father's, and it was a secret to no one what she was seeking the Saiyan for. The two minutes that those two energies stood side by side gave Trunks' palms ample time to become coated in sweat, and by the time Vegeta actually began approaching the staircase, Trunks was downright shaky.

The younger prince jumped to his feet, suddenly deciding to get out while he could. His legs sprang into action, lunging for his balcony and throwing the door open before launching his way off the edge. He landed firmly on the lawn below, shoved his hands into his pockets, and nonchalantly strolled in through the back door. If he acted cool, he could convince her that he had been out and about for a while, explaining why he had not responded to her calls.

"Hey, Mom," he casually greeted, offering her a small wave. "How've you been?"

Bulma narrowed her eyes at her son. "Don't play innocent with me," she accused. "I know damn well you just left your bedroom."

Trunks looked at her, stunned. "What makes you say that?"

"Trunks Briefs, I have been raising half-Saiyan children for fifteen years. Do you really think I can't tell when one of them jumps out of a fourth story window?"

Sheepishly putting his hand back in his pocket, Trunks shrugged. "It was worth a shot," he mumbled.

"Not really," Bulma countered, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, Trunks, you really don't give me enough credit."

With a subdued shrug, Trunks began to make his way toward the kitchen. "Well, I really just came down for a snack."

"Liar."

Trunks threw his arms in the air with frustration. "Come on, Mom, let me get one in!"

Bulma snorted, sliding passed her son in order to pull a soda out of the refrigerator. "Well, that's just not fun for me, is it?"

"Yeah, but it's my birthday!" Trunks whined.

Taking a long drink from the can, Bulma pointed a finger at her son. "You didn't make your grand entrance onto this planet until nine at night," she pointed out. "As far as I'm concerned, you don't deserve a celebration until then. Hell, if anything, YOU should be doing great things for ME! I'm the one that was in labor for seventeen hours!"

Trunks groaned. "Can't you just have mercy on me?" he begged.

With an overly dramatic sigh, Bulma waived off her son. "Fine, whatever. Just go get your father and tell him that I need a hand getting this up."

The lavender haired teenager grew instantly rigid. "We don't need to bother him, do we?" he feebly attempted.

Bulma shook her head. "Well, I can't do it alone, and since it's YOUR special day, I can't ask you to do it."

"No!" Trunks insisted. "Um, I'm already here, so why don't I just do it? It's no trouble, really..."

The heiress immediately went up on alert. "Trunks, why are you doing this?"

The color on the young prince's face left briefly before being replaced by crimson. "Oh, no reason in particular."

Bulma's eyes narrowed dangerously at the boy. "Well _that's_ the worst excuse anyone in this family could possibly come up with. You know damn well that not one of us does something without a well thought out reason. Hell, your sister can cite five reasons, on the spot, for why she's doing whatever the hell it is she's doing. Now spill, Trunks."

"Mom, really, it's…"

"Trunks Briefs," Bulma sternly interrupted, "if you do not tell me this instant why you are avoiding your father, I am going to hand over all party planning to your little sister and let you have a Sesame Street themed event!"

Trunks' eyes bulged out of his sockets. "You wouldn't!"

"Try me," his mother quickly countered, glaring at him.

Gulping, Trunks shook his head. "Mom," he explained as calmly as he could, "there's nothing you can do about this, so could you please just let this one go?"

Bulma frowned. "Trunks…"

"Please?"

Letting out a defeated sigh, Bulma shook her head. "Okay," she relented, clearly not happy with it, "I will let it go. But if I sense that whatever this is will be going to become a major issue in this household, I'm picking it right back up again, okay?

Grateful, Trunks kissed his mother on the cheek. "You're the best!" Clapping his hands together, he asked, "So, what did you need me to do?"

For almost twenty minutes, mother and son worked together contently. They told jokes and laughed over little family stories, and Trunks was put so at ease by her presence that he completely forgot about his earlier troubles. Because of that, Trunks ceased monitoring his father's energy and was completely off guard.

The sudden chill that ran down Trunks' spine as his father entered the room. The man's presence was overpowering. Trunks gulped as the sudden awareness, but he continued hanging the banner he was working on, his back to his father. "Hi, Dad," he greeted as casually as he could.

Vegeta glared at his son's back, and simply returned with, "Hn."

Bulma glanced from her husband to her son and back again. There was definitely something wrong between the two, but she had promised to keep out of it. At least for a little while…

Trunks fiddled with the string on the banner he was hanging up. Slowly, he wrapped the string around the hook. Twirl after slow twirl, Trunks could feel the tension filling every inch of his body. He had taken a full minute to wrap it around, but his father was still in the room. Too nervous to face the man, Trunks began to unwrap the same string.

Behind him, Vegeta kept focused eyes on his son. Using his peripheral vision to keep an eye on the boy, the elder prince pulled a glass out of a cabinet and filled it with cold water, sipping at it as he watched the nervous teen.

Once again, Bulma glanced back and forth between the two of them. Even she could feel the tension. Whatever was going on, it was big.

Trunks continued hovering in the air, twirling that one piece of string over and over again as slowly as he could. Maybe he would not have to land. Maybe he would not have to turn around. Maybe, just maybe, if he stayed up there long enough, his father would just walk away and could be avoided for the remainder of his natural life.

Maintaining his composure flawlessly, Vegeta took a seat and continued to sip at his beverage. Trunks had not left his eyesight once.

Twirling and untwirling, twirling and untwirling, over and over again that piece of string wound around the hook. Trunks knew that if he turned around, if he actually faced the man, then he would not be able to keep the issue contained. And if he let it surface, there was going to be hell to pay.

Bulma cleared her throat and excused herself from the room, mistakenly believing that if she just gave the two of them alone time, everything would be worked out. She completely missed the look of fear and desperation in the boy's eyes as she left the room, abandoning her son to his fate.

Over and over again that piece of string made its way around, moving from the hook to his finger and back again as the anxiety in the fifteen year old grew steadily.

After an agonizing minute, Bra decided to grace them with her presence. She was still quite young, but that girl had always had a keen ability to read exactly what someone else was feeling or thinking, simply through body language. She paused in the doorway, analyzing her brother as he nervously fiddled with the string, and her father as he barely sipped at his drink, his own eyes on the stressed out teenager.

Yes, there was definitely something going on between the two, and from what she could make out, Trunks was in a heap of trouble but was yet to be sentenced. Her Daddy only got that look in his eye when one of them had done something _big_. Well, there had been a few times where he had gotten it just _before_ they had done something big, like right before Trunks smashed the television or right before Bra had ripped one of Bulma's favorite formal gowns asunder in a very intense game of dress-up.

The little girl shrugged and made her way to the refrigerator to grab her intended snack. Trunks was playing with a banner wishing himself a happy birthday, and Bra could not think of any way her big brother could get in trouble doing that. So, she deduced, Trunks had already done something wrong and was trying to buy time.

Hence, she thought with a smile, pulling out a kitchen chair, there was going to be a spectacular show when Trunks finally did turn around. With a downright evil look on her young face, Bra took a seat right next to her father and eagerly awaited the fireworks.

Trunks managed to suppress the groan he felt building in his throat at his sister's actions. The entire event was going to be miserable, but did there have to be witnesses? Oh, when would all the torture end? Now he _couldn't_ turn around! And how much longer could he get away with playing with a piece of string?

Bra grinned and kicked her feet up, resting them on the next chair over. The television show she had been watching had been long forgotten in promise of a much more entertaining show. At her side, her father had put his glass down on the table and began to run his ring finger around the rim. A ringing hum began to echo from the glass, steadily growing louder and louder.

That was it! The ringing was the final straw. Trunks just could not take it any longer. "Enough!" he cried, dropping the banner altogether and ignoring it as that side fell toward the floor. He whipped around, a cross of fear and determination in his eyes as he finally met his father's eyes.

Slowly, Vegeta stopped running his finger on the glass and got to his feet. Behind him, Bra watched in awe as father and son stood toe to toe, staring one another down. While Vegeta remained cool and completely in control, Trunks was literally shaking in fear, and there was a definite layer of sweat pouring down his face.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes just slightly. "You got something to say to me, boy?" he challenged.

Taking a very shaky breath, Trunks nodded. He opened his mouth, but could not find the air within to make the noise. Taking a gulp of what very little saliva was left in his mouth, Trunks once again drew a breath. He squared his shoulders and stared his father right in the eye and finally said what had been eating away at him for twenty four hours.

"_I'm taller than you_!"

The words had barely left his mouth before Trunks was making a break for the back door, and the teenager did not dare look back as he made a beeline toward his best friend's house. If he was really, really lucky, he could stay ahead long enough for Goku to sense them, get curious, and steal focus.

But Trunks was not being pursued. Vegeta simply stood in the kitchen, watching his son flee for life and limb. Behind him, Bra let out a very disappointed huff.

"That's it?" she demanded. "He says _that_ and you're just going to let him get away with it?"

Her father turned to her, shaking his head. He had noticed the same thing three days earlier, and had of course, not said anything. He knew that it was only a matter of time before the boy noticed, and Vegeta had been keenly aware of the moment the height difference dawned on Trunks. They had been in the living room, simply crossing through on the way to dinner, when Trunks' eyes lit up with realization.

Vegeta had spent the past day slowly watching as Trunks had twitched and squirmed, dying to blurt out his news but being too terrified of the results to follow through with it. And, still being at least slightly evil, Vegeta had taken great delight in slowly torturing his son until the boy had been driven to get it out of his system. Oh, that had been fun…

Slowly, he smirked down at his daughter. "Hardly," he responded with an evil look on his face. "Today is the fifteenth anniversary of the day he was born, and for reasons I will never understand, that apparently entitles him to certain privileges. His gift from me is a twenty four hour stay of execution."

Bra giggled, putting her small hands up by her mouth. "So, the show's tomorrow?"

Vegeta nodded, turning to leave the room. Trunks was safe for the day, but as soon as his birthday ended…he would pay.


	20. Snack Time

Trunks walked into the kitchen and frowned. He had just hopped out of his post training shower, and he was starving. However, at the ripe old age of five, he was not allowed to use the majority of the tools the kitchen had to offer. No knives, no stove, and, thanks to one little mishap involving tin foil and a power surge, no microwaves. If he wanted to make a snack on his own, it had to involve nothing more than a spoon and the refrigerator.

The frown deepened as he tried to sense out his grandmother. When there was a need for food, she was definitely the one to consult. She could make anything taste divine, and unlike his mother, she had never once set cereal on fire. _That was a long day_, the child thought, rolling his eyes. Unfortunately for him, it appeared that his grandmother was a quite a long ways away. His father was still training and his mother was at work, so it seemed that he was completely on his own.

Ever self-reliant, the little prince shrugged and walked over to the refrigerator. He pulled the door open and carefully studied his choices. Yogurt, fruit, various sandwich materials…

Somehow, he managed to make his frown deepen even further. None of it seemed right to him. There was certainly sufficient food for a small snack, but one could only eat so many peanut butter and banana sandwiches at a time before wanting to scream. And he was just sick to death of eating yogurt. It was one of the few foods his mother did not try to screw with, so she relied heavily on it.

With a sigh, the small child closed the refrigerator and floated up to the freezer. He glanced in, partially distracted by the sight of his breath showing up in the cold air. Anything that was in the ice box required tools he was not supposed to use, but he figured that he could get by just this one time. Eventually, his bright blue eyes landed on a frozen roast in the back. "Bingo," he whispered, leaning in to grab it. The kitchen freezer was large, though, and Trunks found himself deep enough inside for the door to close behind him.

"What the…" the little boy shouted, turning around in the icy blackness. He felt around, trying to figure out where the door was, but he had gotten confused in the darkness and lost between several dozen bags of frozen vegetables. Quickly panicking, Trunks began to frantically shove things out of his way, praying to find the door soon. It was scary in there!

Suddenly, an idea dawned on him. It had to work. He had seen his Dad to the trick a hundred times before. Extending his hand out in front of his quickly freezing body, Trunks summoned up a ball of energy. He had only recently learned how to gather it, but he knew perfectly well that, at the end of the day, energy balls worked better than flashlights.

Trunks' whole body was shaking as he looked around. "I got it!" he called out, reaching for the door. Unfortunately, the child had not dispersed the energy in his hand before using it to push the door open, leading the door to fly across the room in a small ball of fire.

The little prince blinked in surprise at the reaction. "Whoops," he mumbled, hopping down with his prize. He slowly walked over to the burning door and stared at it, wondering what to do next. He knew that fires were not supposed to be left alone, but in his personal opinion, it seemed to be going out just fine on its own. With a mild shrug, he tossed the frozen roast onto the kitchen table before jumping up there himself.

"Let's see," he muttered to himself, reading the label on the package. "Preheat oven to three hundred and fifty degrees, slit cover to vent, and cook for fifty five minutes." Nodding, he jumped off the table and pulled a chair over to the stove. "Okay, three hundred and fifty degrees…three hundred and fifty degrees…" He frowned as he stared at the controls. The only options he could see were low, medium, high, and a lot of little lines between each of them. "Well," he reasoned out loud, "three hundred and fifty degrees is really hot, so it'll need to be high!"

Confidently, the child turned the dial as high as it would go and smile. "Now I wait for it to get warm!" he announced to himself. He sniffed the air, wondering what the disgusting smell was. Turning around, he cringed at the melted, smoldering pile on the floor of what used to be the freezer door. "Right, that thing…" The little boy approached it carefully and pocked at it with his sock covered foot. Jumping back, Trunks hissed and hopped up and down. "Geez, that's smarts!" he cried. He glared angrily at the former door. "Fine!" he yelled at it. "Be that way!"

With a huff, he stormed up to his room to get a new pair of socks. After all, one of them had a burn mark going through it. It only took the boy a few minutes, and soon enough, he was back in the kitchen. Significantly calmer than he had been earlier, he hopped back on the chair and held his hand out over the stove. A large smile crossed his face. "Perfect! It's warm!"

Jumping back over to the table, Trunks pulled open the top of the roast's cover and slid back down to the floor. He shoved the chair aside and opened up the oven, tossing the roast in. "Fifty-five minutes," he reminded himself, looking up in the clock. He studied it carefully, tapping his chin with his index finger. "So, if it's 2:30 now," he calculated out loud, "then it should be done at…2:85." He frowned and shook his head. "Wait, that's not a time," he growled. "I'll go look this up…"

He made it as far as the living room before his eyes bugged out. "2:30?" he shouted. "My cartoons are on!" He dove onto the coffee table, snatching the remote before settling onto the couch, joyously watching his animated mayhem.

Twenty minutes later, he sniffed the air. "What's burning?" he wondered out loud. He got to his feet and approached the kitchen, extremely curious where the smell was coming from. When he got there, though, his eyes grew enormous. "_Holy crap!"_

A large chunk of the kitchen was fully engulfed in flames. What had once been a smoldering door was a fiery black lump, and the stove and oven were literally bursting apart from the force of the flames. "Oh, crap!" Trunks cried, barely entering the room. "Oh, I am dead! I am so dead!" He ran over to the burning stove, frantically trying to figure out what to do. "Alright, don't panic!" he shouted to himself. "Panicking doesn't fix anything, and this needs to be fixed, like, now!"

His eyes widened slightly, another idea dawning on him. "I can use my ki to put the fire out!" he said to himself. "Dad's done it!" Quickly, he extended both of his hands, trying to gather energy. Unfortunately, not only was he ill experienced, he was panicking. Instead of putting up a subtle ki barrier and letting the fire die without oxygen, he released two fairly powerful blasts, full bore. They tore through the wall.

"CRAP!" he screamed, staring at the hole me made. Terrified, he whipped around, staring at the rest of the kitchen. Hundreds of flaming bits had splintered off when he had fired his blast, and they had managed to set most of the remainder of the kitchen on fire. Once again, the boy yelled out, "CRAP!"

A hissing noise sounded behind him, and Trunks tentatively turned his head. "What on earth…?"

He was not entirely sure what happened next. A violent explosion shot from the oven as he closed his eyes, and the noise pounded at his ears. However, the only thing he physically felt was the shaking of the ground beneath him. Very, very slowly, he cracked an eye open and gasped. "Dad?"

"Get outside," Vegeta firmly commanded.

"How…"

"_Now!"_

Trunks did not wait to be told a third time. He skedaddled out of that house as fast as his short legs could take him. Feeling oddly numb, the five year old took a seat underneath a tree, patiently waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Several minutes later, a very angry Vegeta appeared in the doorway. Trunks shot to his feet and swallowed hard, cowering slightly under his father's glare. He slowly approached the man, avoiding eye contact at all possible costs. The little boy did not say a word as he reached the doorway, but he did flinch as he felt a large hand on the back of his neck. Breathing hard, Trunks found himself being led straight back to the scene of the crime.

Following the pressure on the back of his neck, Trunks lifted his head and looked around the ruined kitchen. The walls were blackened, most of the furniture was ash, and, with a painful gulp, he realized that the entire section of the house above where the oven had once been had collapsed altogether. He coughed, the still smoky air agitating his lungs.

Vegeta tightened his grip slightly. "I want a straight answer out of you on the first try, boy," he growled. "Just what the hell were you _thinking_ when you did this?"

Trunks' lower lip began to quiver. "I was hungry," he stammered out, "but Grandma wasn't here, and I didn't want a sandwich, so I tried to make real food, but then I got stuck in the freezer, and then I accidentally blew the door up, and then I watched cartoons, and then I burned down the house! I'm sorry, Papa! I didn't mean to burn down the house!"

The elder prince rolled his eyes. "Of course you didn't, you idiot," he bit out. "No one sets their own home on fire on purpose."

Slightly surprised, Trunks considered those words. "Huh," he consented, "I guess you're right." Very hesitantly, he glanced back and up toward his father's face. "Hey, Dad? How did you know I was in trouble?"

"Your ki spiked," he coolly responded. However, his grip did not loosen at all. In fact, he hauled the boy up to eyelevel, leaving the child's feet dangling several feet off the ground. "Now tell me this, boy. What moron gets in enough trouble to power up, clearly in over his head, without even _trying_ to find assistance?"

Whimpering, Trunks had to keep from letting the tears spill over his eyes. "Mom's at work," he pitifully explained, "and you were still training, and by the time I found out how bad it was, I thought it would take too long to get either of you and I tried to take care of it myself. I…I remembered the time Mom set the couch on fire, and how you used your energy to try to put it out and…and I just wanted to do what you did, Papa."

"And how, exactly, did you think you were going to manage that with only two weeks of energy training?" Vegeta sneered.

"I dunno!" Trunks shouted, torn between anger and sadness. "You made it look like it was easy, so I thought it was!"

Groaning, Vegeta dropped his son unceremoniously on the ground. "Fantastic," he muttered. "Your mother is going to have a field day blaming me for this one."

Trunks' bright blue eyes lit up as realization dawned on him. He quickly scurried to his feet, and he had to fight to keep the smile off his face. Maybe, just maybe, there was an escape clause if he played his cards right. "I was just trying to be like you," he quietly said, his wide eyes on the blackened floor.

"So?" Vegeta sneered.

Suddenly, Bulma burst into the ruined house. "_What the hell happened in here?_" she screamed, taking in the impressive amount of damage done to her home.

Before his father could get a word in edgewise, Trunks pointed to his father and shouted, "He showed me how to do it!" and took off like a shot.

Furiously, Vegeta turned in the direction his son ran off in. "Why you little…" His rage barely contained, he spared his outraged lover a very quick glance before shouting, "I am going to murder your son!"


	21. In n' Out

It had been a fairly quiet afternoon at Capsule Corp. There were no screaming matches, no death threats, no well-crafted traps set, ready for anyone to fall into them. There was only quiet. Vegeta was training diligently, Bulma was working in her lab, and Trunks and Bra were both at school. It was the most peace that compound would ever know.

Goodness knew the family was never that quiet.

The first sign of the chaos to come was the appearance of the elder prince. It was time for his lunch break from training, and any time a Saiyan went for a full meal was bound to make at least a _little_ noise. However, when left alone, the prince was often quite quiet and reserved. Of course, the odds of him getting a true afternoon on his own were slim to nonexistent. There was always something that came up, and that day was no exception.

Vegeta had not even made it all the way to the refrigerator when the phone rang. While he traditionally ignored the contraption, Bulma had installed a system that would call out the name of the caller if it was one he may have to pay attention to. The family cell phone numbers, emergency response, and the one that got called out most often:

_Trunks' school is on the line._

The boy had a real gift for getting in trouble at school, though in Vegeta's opinion, most of the offenses hardly warranted a call from a headmaster. Considering all of the things a boy with that amount of wealth, influence, intelligence, and raw power was truly capable of, something like gluing someone's sneakers to the ground in the locker room was downright trivial. Unfortunately, the school never seemed to agree with him, and the woman rarely responded any better. And if the home line was being called, that meant that Bulma was not picking up at the office. _Probably locked in that damn private lab with the music so loud it's damaging her hearing_, the prince thought, snorting slightly.

The prince had been dragged to a handful of the conferences, and he had noticed that every one of them went the same way. The principal would lecture about the offense, glare at Trunks like that would somehow change his attitude, and then glare at the parents until they implied that the child would be thoroughly punished at home.

And if the woman was not answering her phone, that unfortunately left only one parent to deal with the situation. He had tried ignoring calls before, but the end result was hardly worth it. Groaning, Vegeta picked up the phone, opening with, "Why, what did he do this time?"

The principal stammered slightly, not expecting such a direct response in lieu of a proper greeting. "I beg your pardon?"

"I assume my idiot son did something to breach the lines of proper conduct and you are calling to invite me to his reprimanding session," Vegeta clarified. "Shall I assume that it is in the usual location?"

"Um, well yes, but…"

"I will be there shortly."

As the befuddled principal stared at his phone, Trunks smirked. "Dad picked up?"

The principal glared at the Briefs boy, remembering why the lad had been called to the office in the first place. "You would do well to mind your manners, young man," the principal scolded, hanging up the receiver. "You're in enough trouble as it is."

Trunks had to fight the urge to retaliate further. As far as he was concerned, there was no way he could be in that much trouble. However, on the off chance he was further in it than he realized, he kept his mouth shut. Plus, the mood his father would be in upon arrival really could be anything. If the man was amused, Trunks would survive easily. If his training was interrupted, the boy would have to serve time as the punching bag. And if the senior prince was in a bad mood, nothing in the universe would save Trunks.

Leaning back with a sigh, Trunks glared at the wall. No matter how badly he may wish to do otherwise, provoking the principal would not get anything accomplished. With a displeased expression on his face, the teenage prince continued to stare at the wall, waiting for the man who would either prove to be his savior or his executioner.

A few minutes later, Vegeta walked in. He had brushed right passed the secretary and had not bothered to knock, so the principal, startled, jumped with a little yelp. "Oh, you're here so soon!" he nervously greeted. "I thought it would take longer…"

As the senior prince sat down and glared, the principal swallowed. He had only met Trunks' father a handful of times, but it was a secret to no one that Vegeta was a scary, scary man. That glare could turn blood to ice in an instant, and thought the principal was never certain why, the man seemed to radiate a threatening attitude.

Vegeta shifted his eyes back and forth, his glare going from the principal to his son. It was plain as day that both of them were thinking the same thing: _Please let him be mad at the other one_. It used a fair amount of willpower to keep from rolling his eyes at the juvenile attitudes of the others. "Well?" he finally demanded. "Why have I been summoned?"

"Oh, right," the principal stammered. "Well, Mr. Briefs, your son has taken his harassment of the staff of this facility to a new level."

_That's my boy_, Vegeta thought, fighting the smirk. "And?" he prodded, his patience wearing thin. "What is it that my son did?"

"Well, here's the thing," the principal nervously went on, "we're not entirely certain."

Vegeta's eyes widened at the man slightly before narrowing dangerously at the boy. Trunks, meanwhile, seemed to be filling with more confidence by the second. If the principal was stammering and they were not even sure of what happened, there was no way they would be able to deal out a harsh punishment. "I told you," the Briefs boy said, putting his hands behind his head, "I didn't do anything."

That position was recognizable instantly to the elder prince. Vegeta had been in it a thousand times before. However, unlike the brutal beatings and torture _he_ always endured afterwards, Trunks seemed to be getting off with no more than a tongue lashing. _Lucky bastard._

"Do you mean to tell me," Vegeta dangerously concluded, "that you have interrupted my entire afternoon in order to tell me that my son _may_ have done _something_, but that you do not even know what crime has been committed?"

"Oh, not at all," the principal assured, feeling a layer of sweat forming at the back of his neck. "We know _what_ happened. We just aren't sure _how_." The man stood and turned, pressing a switch on the monitor behind him. Several years earlier, the school had installed a security camera system, and it had proven quite useful at keeping the juvenile delinquents in line. "Allow me to show you."

The lights in the room lowered as the screen grew bright. It gave the image of a teacher, alone at his desk, grading papers. The man was clearly saying something to himself, but the cameras were not picking up any words. The two men from the Briefs household quickly became bored as minutes rolled by with nothing happening. "Is there a purpose to any of this?" Vegeta eventually growled.

The principal nervously nodded. "I'm sorry, I thought the tape was set up to the right moment. It should be coming up right now."

True enough, the man on the camera got to his feet, placed down his pen, and walked for the doorway. He entered it…

And was sitting right back in the chair.

Looking slightly confused, the man shook his head. Glancing around a lot more this time, the teacher tried once more to leave the room, and once again the poor man found himself sitting right back in his chair.

Vegeta quirked an eyebrow. That was certainly an interesting development.

"You see?" the principal responded.

"I see a man who cannot leave a room," Vegeta consented, "but I fail to see how my son is involved with this in any way. In fact, I see no sign of him at all."

"Mr. Matthews is Trunks' third period History teacher," the principal assured. "This incident occurred during Mr. Matthews' fifth period prep."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed. "So, there was an entirely separate set of students who were capable of entering and leaving the room, with ease, between the time my son left and when this particular incident occurred?"

The nervousness reappeared. The principal pressed a few buttons on the controller he had. "Well, we also caught this on film."

It was Trunks' class, and the young prince had been seated near the front so the teacher could keep a close eye on him. The bell rang shortly after the clip started, and like every other student in the room, Trunks packed up his bag and walked through the door. As he passed the doorframe, a young woman dropped her binder, sending her papers flying everywhere. While standing in the frame, Trunks knelt down and helped the girl gather her fallen supplies. He quietly said something to her, gave her a charming smile, and left.

Eyes narrowing again, Vegeta focused his glare on the headmaster. "You are accusing the boy because he did an honorable deed and helped a fellow student?" he balked.

"Mr. Briefs, he was the only student in that doorway for longer than it took to walk out of the room. He is also the only one with access to things the rest of us could not even fathom in you labs."

Now, Vegeta did not doubt for a moment that Trunks was the one responsible for the teacher's constant disappearing/reappearing act. It seemed exactly like something the boy could do. However, no one accused his son of wrongdoing without having hard evidence to back it up.

Besides, arguing with people was fun.

"How do you propose my son did this?" he demanded. "What have you found to incriminate him?"

"Well, nothing officially…"

"So you are telling me," Vegeta growled, getting to his feet slowly, "that with no evidence, even in the wake of your security cameras, and with no true indication that he was in any way involved, you have decided to accuse my son of what, exactly?"

The principal cleared his throat. "You saw the tape, sir," he explained. "You know what happened."

Giving one curt nod, the senior prince demanded, "Has the faculty member been capable of leaving the room since then, or have you left him on his own?"

"Oh, don't worry about him, sir," the principal replied with a smile, visibly relaxing. "He got our soon afterwards."

Vegeta glanced back at his son, and the boy offered only a quick smirk when the principal was not looking. Turning his attentions back toward the principal again, Vegeta sneered, "Why the hell am I here?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You have shown me that my son hit on a girl and that a man could not leave a room for thirty seconds," the prince bit out. "No one was hurt, there has been no property damage, no written rules I am aware of have been broken, and you are yet to show me a damn thing that shows my son doing _anything_ wrong. Why the hell am I here?"

"Well, your son…"

"Is yet to be shown doing anything wrong," Vegeta interrupted. "Now either show me his misdoings or let us go on with our lives!"

The principal gulped. It had not dawned on him that the parents would not see what he had to offer as sufficient evidence. "Well, you have seen for yourself, sir, that…"

"That's enough," Vegeta interrupted again, rolling his eyes. He turned to Trunks and lifted his chin slightly. "We are going home, boy. Now."

Scrambling to his own feet, the principal let out a small huff. "Mr. Briefs, the school day has not concluded yet, and…"

But once again the senior prince would not let the man finish his sentence. "And he has perfect scores in most of his classes and can afford an afternoon off, _especially_ considering that you have been throwing wild accusations at him. I will be taking the boy. Now."

Unable to form direct words, the principal could do nothing but sputter as father and son walked out the front door.

When they got inside the car, Trunks gave his father a nervous smile. "Wow, I wasn't expecting to get sprung for the day," he nervously laughed.

"You are not off the hook yet, boy," Vegeta threatened, starting the car. He hated taking the slow contraption, but he knew that it was necessary when they were doing anything within the city limits. Dropping out of the sky tended to make people panic, and panicking people were not fun to deal with. "It obviously was your own doing."

Trunks' smile faltered. "Well, you saw…"

"I saw a boy with the ability to move faster than standard human technology can keep up with and a gift for getting in trouble," Vegeta returned. "Considering your natural capabilities, you were likely the reason those papers ended up on the floor and used the opportunity to plant a device that was remote activated." He glared harshly at the boy. "Give me some credit, boy."

"Wait," Trunks asked, "if you knew it was me all along, why did you fight it out with the principal?"

"Why not?"

The younger prince chuckled and nodded. That certainly seemed like a reasonable response coming from either of his parents. "Alright," he laughed, "but why are you taking me home?"

A wicked smirk crossed Vegeta's features. "You have the relocation device back in your possession, correct?"

"Um, yeah."

"Excellent." He extended a hand to his son. "Give me the teleportation end. You hang on to the receiver."

Trunks' smirk matched his fathers. "And where will our target be ending up?"

"Kakarot's living room," Vegeta answered, his look downright evil. "You will plant it and inform him that I am interested in a spar."

"And then he'll…"

"Precisely."

Trunks threw his head back and laughed. The image of Goku teleporting to Capsule Corp only to be given a 'return to sender' back to his living room over and over again was priceless.

It was going to be a great afternoon.


	22. Perfect

Bra coiled a strand of hair around her finger, wondering what to do with it. The rest of her hair was immaculately done, but that one strand had somehow managed to evade her nimble fingers and stray from her coif. Normally, she would have taken the entire style down and started from scratch, her drive for perfection forcing her to make it flawless, but there really was no time. She had to be ready to go in only about five minutes, and even with super human reflexes, her hair was going to take longer than that to fix.

"Damn it," she growled. "How the hell did I miss this?"

"Perhaps you have become as oblivious as your mother."

Bra turned around and offered her father a smirk. "Mom's not always oblivious," she defended.

"No, she isn't," the prince admitted, "but you know damn well that leaving one little thing out only to realize it was vital at the end is something she has done a thousand times before."

Giggling, Bra turned back toward her mirror. "Alright, you've got a point there. Remember the time she built that training room for you, and she was so proud of how great her new system was, and how spectacular it was supposed to be, and you asked why the hell there were no lights in the room?"

Vegeta smirked, remembering the day clearly. The woman had spent countless months designing a new training facility, one large enough and grand enough for her husband and both children to be training at the same time. It was a brilliant design, truly revolutionary in its intricacies. However, when she brought her family over to show it off, bursting with pride, Vegeta had asked almost immediately, "Where the hell are the lights?" The screaming that had followed had left the three members with Saiyan blood hearing a ringing sound for almost a week.

"Comparatively speaking," he told his daughter, "a loose lock of hair is hardly anything to be worked up about."

Bra frowned, remembering her dilemma. The hair wound around her finger a little tighter, and the skin around it began to turn white. "What am I going to do about this?"

"Does it really matter?" the prince returned.

Bra whipped around, glaring at her father. "Daddy!" she scolded. "How can you seriously still be that unaware of how important something like this can be? It is a formal occasion, and I am the guest of honor! I _have_ to be _perfect_!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes, approaching his daughter from behind. "There is nothing I can do to assist you in this matter," he informed her, "but if you want me to go get your mother to offer her assistance…"

"NO!" the young woman screamed, waving her hands in front of her face. While she loved her mother dearly, the elder Briefs woman had been a little too hands-on for her daughter's tastes over the past few weeks. Preparing for the event had put a large strain on the mother and daughter's relationship, if nothing else from the power struggles. It was Bra's day, but Bulma, like most mothers before her, wanted to make it "perfect". They had not agreed on what perfect was, and there had been a number of fights over it. Both women were strong willed, and neither one was willing to back down.

Needless to say, Trunks and Vegeta had gotten a _lot_ of good training time in.

When Vegeta smirked at his daughter, Bra shoved him. "Oh, you jerk!" she told him, recovering from the push. "You did that on purpose!"

"Would I do such a thing?" the father teased.

Bra hoisted her skirt and went back to her vanity, huffing the words, "Stupid head," as she took a seat. "You know, you haven't exactly made this an easy experience either."

Offering her a one shoulder shrug, Vegeta returned with, "I stayed the hell out of your way. What else would you have asked of me?"

"Well you could have…well, there was always…you certainly could have…" The flustered princess turned bright red as she stared at his reflection in the mirror. "Shut up, that's what!"

Vegeta chuckled, leaning against the wall next to the vanity. "Are you certain you are not your mother's clone?"

Bra growled, winding the coil of hair again. "Can't you think of something helpful to do?" she demanded.

"I have done plenty," the father replied. "I have kept you and your mother from murdering each other, I have kept your brother from scheming some grand plan to ruin your day, and I, personally, have only made four death threats since this entire damn ordeal began."

The princess' features softened slightly, and she even formed a small smile. Even if they had been driving her crazy over the past few weeks, Bra was mature enough to know that they were doing what they knew to be best for her. Her mother's interference really had been just trying to help her achieve the perfect day, Trunks had not given a single indication that he was going to pull a prank, and her father had done an impressive job keeping his legendary temper in check.

"What am I going to do about this?" she asked, changing the focus back to that lock of hair.

"Why are you asking me about that?" the prince asked back. "I have no experience at all in that field, nor do I wish to have any. Just do whatever voodoo you usually do." He pushed his sleeve up slightly and showed his daughter his watch. "Time is of the essence."

Bra glared up at her father, still seated in front of her mirror. "It's my party," she shot back at him. "Nothing happens without me being there, so they can just wait."

Vegeta chuckled at his daughter. "Do you forget that not only are your mother, brother, and I here, but that there is a large group of people with the last name Son in attendance? None of us are particularly known for our patience, and if you take too long, someone is going to drag you out by force."

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "You wouldn't dare."

"Of course I would," Vegeta casually answered. "Have you not met me?"

"Not today you wouldn't," Bra retaliated. "If you do anything to ruin this day for me, Mom will have your head."

Vegeta growled slightly. "She does not scare me."

"Her taste in music does."

He could not argue that. One of his wife's favorite modes of retaliation involved programming the most obnoxious sounds he had ever had the misfortune of hearing and making them blare wherever he went. Granted, he usually deserved it, but that did not stop it from being a horrific experience. "If you took long enough for me to be hauling you out," he countered, "then you will already be at the end of your rope with the rest of the fools. They will bear me no grudge."

"The _rest_ of the fools?" the daughter teased, giving her father an amused look.

"Very funny," the prince sneered back. "However, they are expecting you. It is improper to be late, particularly to such an occasion."

With a sly look, the princess began to giggle. "Mom was late, wasn't she?"

_Not in the sense you're thinking_, Vegeta thought, rolling his eyes. "Bra, the clock is ticking, and I cannot keep them at bay for long. Tuck it away and let's go."

"Daddy," she admonished, playing with that strand again, "I have enough to worry about today other than my family's temper tantrums. I have spent months and months getting ready for this, and I'm not going to let you or Mom or Trunks or anyone else take it over. Everything has to be perfect."

"No, it doesn't," her father told her. "Just pin it back and go."

Growling, Bra narrowed her focus on that damn strand. It had been wound and unwound from her index finger so many times that it was starting to take on a natural curl. While on another day she would have thought it cute, all she could think of that day was that it was going to be harder to work with. "This isn't working!" she hissed, moving it to several different locations and hating all of them. "It isn't perfect!"

"Bra, relax," the prince counseled. "It is going to be fine."

"It's not perfect!"

Vegeta approached his daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head. "Perfection is overrated."

The princess went rigid. Had her father really just said that? Him, the ultimate perfectionist? The man who had pushed himself well beyond sane limits in order to achieve his perfect goal? The Saiyan that would do the same routines again and again and again until he was convinced that they were flawless? The screaming example of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder was telling her that perfection was overrated? Slowly, she turned her head and looked up at him, concern in her eyes. "Daddy?" she softly asked. "Are you alright?"

Grunting, Vegeta dropped his hand and took a step back. "I am fine," he firmly told her.

But Bra did not seem convinced. Making sure she did not step on her dress, she got to her feet and placed a hand on his forehead. "Well, you're not warm…"

"I'm fine!" the prince insisted. "What the hell is your problem? I give one word of advice and you seem to think that means I am terminally ill!"

Bra frowned. "Did you not hear or understand your advice?" she asked him.

Vegeta glared at his daughter. "I am not a common fool, girl," he chided. "I understand completely what I said, and I meant it." With a huff, he slumped back against the wall, a deep scowl on his face. "Last time I ever try to help you…"

The princess took a seat again, but she did not look in her mirror. Something was definitely off. "Daddy?" she gently asked. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing," the prince bit out. "Forget I said anything."

"Daddy," she softly said, reaching up and grabbing one of his hands, "you know as well as I do that no one in this family will ever let anything go. And you know I'm going to flip about this if you don't talk to me about this. Now, I already told you that I don't need any extra stress today, and you already said that we're running late. So do us all a favor and tell me what you're saying."

With a groan, the Saiyan took a seat. He did not want to talk, but he knew damn well that his daughter was right. She was not going to let him go until he coughed up an explanation, and they really did not have time to waste if they wanted to avoid having Kakarot come looking for them. As badly as he wished to avoid talking, having that third class moron popping in would be far, far worse. With a very disgruntled sigh, he told his daughter again, "Perfection is overrated."

"Yeah, I heard the words," Bra said, still giving her father a wary look. "I'm just worried that _you're_ the one saying them."

"What would you have me say?" Vegeta demanded. "I do not believe there is a simpler way to state that phrase!"

Giving her father her strongest glare, the princess tightened her grip on his hand. "Dad," she sternly said, "why are you telling me this? It's worrying me."

Angrily, the prince looked away. "Bra, I have wasted an insurmountable part of my life trying to achieve my goals. Striving for that perfection has damn near cost me everything, and more than once. Perfection is an impossibility, and fighting for it will drive you mad. I am fortunate that it has not totally destroyed my life, and I wish to pass on the message that you should avoid the same pitfalls. Great is good enough." Clearing his throat, Vegeta got to his feet and looked down at his daughter. "Are we done with this yet?"

Bra smiled up at her father and got to her feet, giving him a hug. "Yeah, we're done," she told him with a hint of a giggle. "Thank you, Papa."

"Hn?" her father responded. "What the hell for?"

"Everything," she replied, pulling back. She gave him a brilliant smile and sighed contently. "For being a great dad, mostly, but just…everything."

Vegeta scanned the room, looking for any distraction he could. He could sense another sentimental moment approaching, and as far as he was concerned, he had already met the emotional quota for the day. Fortunately, there was a knock on the door.

"Hey, guys?" Trunks softly said, poking his head through the door. "Are you almost ready? The guests are getting restless, and I'm not sure how much longer Mom and Chi-Chi are going to be able to keep Goku out of the kitchen. You may want to pick it up."

"Yeah, yeah," Bra laughed back, smiling at her big brother. "We'll be right out."

Trunks quirked a lavender eyebrow at his sister. "You need a hand with anything?"

Bra glanced at the mirror, seeing that damn blue strand sticking out. It did not fit, but she no longer cared. "Nope," she said, smiling as she looked at the coil. "Everything's great."

The elder demi-Saiyan smiled. "Great," he told her. "I'll see you out there."

As she watched her brother disappear through the door, Bra turned to her father and grinned. "I'm ready to go."

But Vegeta shook his head. "You are forgetting something," he told his daughter. Reaching past her, he picked up her veil and delicately placed it on her almost perfect hair. As she smiled at him, he lowered the clear white cloth over her face. "_Now_ you are ready to go."

One tear of joy rolled down the princess' face as she picked up her bouquet with one hand and took her father's arm with the other. "You know," she told him, a tiny hitch in her voice, "I almost don't want to do this. If I do, I won't live with you anymore."

Vegeta rolled his eyes, escorting his daughter to the door. "You are not backing out now," he growled. "This wedding cost a damn fortune…"

Bra laughed, guided by her father from the bridal room. As she walked down the aisle, she felt that one section of hair bouncing against the back of her neck, reminding her that it was not perfect. But she looked around and glowed, knowing her father was right. Perfect might be impossible, but things were great, and that was more than good enough for her.


	23. A Little Talk

Bulma pulled her glasses from her face and rubbed her eyes in a vain attempt to make her headache go away. Most of her responsibilities as a parent were not a problem for her. She could meet them head on without much complaint. In fact, with the exception of one initial outburst from shock, she had even taken the annihilation of her kitchen fairly well. But the task in front of her was the worst she had ever had to face in her life. It was not only daunting, it was terrifying. There were so very many ways that it could go wrong, and she honestly was not sure how to fix it if it did.

But she had reviewed all the source material before her, and she knew that she should not put off this battle any longer than she already had. Trunks was getting older, and if she did not handle the situation soon, then it could easily erupt with him as an adult. It had to be handled, and it had to be handled immediately.

The heiress folded up her reading glasses and returned them to her case. She could sit and stall for days if she wanted to, but enough was enough. There was never going to be a better time, and it was going to have to get done anyway, so she might as well just get it done and over with. With determination in her stride, Bulma marched her way out of her lab and to the family rec room. She knew that was where Trunks was going to be, and she was not mistaken.

The boy was lying on his stomach on the floor, giddily playing his latest video game. Bulma smiled as she watched him, and quickly praised herself for designing a controller that her son could not break…yet. If that kid kept getting stronger at the rate he was, he was going to have to give up his favorite hobby that did not involve Goten.

Off on the side of the room sat her husband, quietly reading. Ever since Vegeta had resigned himself to life on Earth for a sustainable amount of time, he had been systematically going through her family's book collection. He had finished it several times over, and judging from what Bulma could see of the cover, he had recently started his cycle over again. There was a small fire in the fireplace that gave the room a gentle glow, and Bulma could not help the content sigh as she looked in upon her family.

"You know it's kind of creepy when you do that, right Mom?" Trunks called out, his eyes still glued to the television screen.

The heiress blushed, entering the room completely. "It is not," she defended. "I'm just like anyone else who is happy to see their family. You just don't appreciate the little things like you should." Until a year earlier, she would have been almost as oblivious to the touching moment as her family was, but ever since the ordeal with Buu, Bulma had found herself doing the happy little sighing noise fairly often. She took a seat on the couch and waited for a few minutes, content to watch her son solving the mysteries of the temple he was fighting through.

When the boy had reached a save point, Bulma cleared her throat. "Hey, Trunks, can you come with me for a minute?"

"Why?" the child asked, starting on his next challenge.

Bulma frowned. "Because I told you to, that's why," she informed her child.

"Well, yeah, I get that," Trunks responded, keeping his focus on his quest. "But is this a 'come and help me with a project' type thing, is it a 'you are in so much trouble you are grounded until you turn fifty' type thing, or is this a 'I broke something that belongs to your Dad and need help covering it up' type thing?"

Blushing furiously at that last statement, Bulma glanced over at her husband. To the surprise of no one, his book was closed and he was watching his family with great amusement. "Yes, woman," he asked with a smirk, "which is it?"

"None!" the heiress yelled at both of them. "None of the above, okay? I just need to talk to Trunks about something."

In the front of the room, Trunks chuckled. "Uh-oh," he teased. "Sounds like option number three to me."

"It is not!" Bulma growled. "Now come on, young man, we need to talk!"

Trunks paused his game and rolled over, but he did not get up from the floor. "Okay," he told her, sitting up, "what's up?"

Bulma bit down on her lip slightly. "Actually, I was thinking that we could talk somewhere else."

With a quirked eyebrow, Trunks glanced from his mother to his father. "Why?" he asked. "What's wrong with here? I mean, Dad's here, but what could you want to talk to me about that you don't want him to hear?"

"Trunks, could we just…"

"Oh!" the boy lit up. "Are you trying to plan a surprise party or something for him, Mom? Because if you are, I got to say, it sounds like a terrible idea."

"Agreed," his father answered from his chair.

Trunks nodded. "He hates being around people, parties annoy him, and I can't imagine trying to surprise him being even a little bit a good idea. In fact, it seems kind of stupid."

But Bulma shook her head. "No, it's nothing like that," she assured. "It's just…well, it's time for a talk."

"Yeah, I get that," Trunks responded, giving his mother an extremely concerned look. "Mom, you're scaring me a little right now. What do we need to talk about that's got you this worked up?" Again, he turned to his father. "I thought 'The Talk' was supposed to come from you, anyway. And that's not supposed to be for a couple years!"

Bulma felt her cheeks burning as her eyes widened at her son. "He _will_ be the one to do that, it _won't_ be for a while, and dear lord, what do you know about 'The Talk'?"

"Enough to know that I don't want it coming from you and that it's going to make me never want to look at either of you again," Trunks replied, shuddering a little. "I'm quite happy with that line you keep feeding me with you two 'wrestling', thank you very much. I'm old enough to know that's bull, but I don't think I want to know what exactly you're doing to each other, because honestly, it just sounds wrong."

As Vegeta had to fight to keep from laughing, Bulma felt as though her head were about to explode. "_Trunks!_" she shrieked. "Where did you learn…" However, reason caught up to the heiress, and she snapped her mouth shut. Demanding where Trunks learned something almost always ended up with him accurately pointing at one of his parents, and Bulma was more than likely to be the one fingered on that particular topic. "Never mind," she huffed. "Look, are you going to come talk to me or not?"

"Woman," Vegeta intervened, "whatever's gotten your panties in a twist, just say it already. There should be nothing to tell him that I do not already know of, and if there is, you know damn well I'll get it out of him within ten minutes of your conversation ending. Why don't you save us all the time and do it here and now?"

Bulma fidgeted nervously and held one arm with the other. "Vegeta, I really don't think that's a great idea."

"Why not?" Trunks asked, hopping up on the couch.

"Guys," the heiress softly pleaded, "please…"

Father and son exchanged a wary glance, but when Vegeta offered a mild nod, Trunks sighed and agreed to go. "Fine," he said. "Where are we going?"

"I think the kitchen's going to be far enough," Bulma calmly said. "Now, come with me."

Trunks looked nervously at his father as he got to his feet. "Okay," he softly said. With great reluctance, he followed his mother out of the room.

Sitting forward in his chair, Vegeta folded his hands in his lap and tried to figure out what the hell was going on. What was so damn important that the woman had to talk to the boy immediately? And more importantly, what the hell did she need to tell him that she did not want to say in his presence? Perhaps her parents were ill. She would want to tell him in a serious matter, and he could admit that assuming he might make a crude comment during a serious moment was not exactly a large stretch. But no, that could not be it. He could sense both of her parents, and they seemed to be in perfect health.

Then what else could it be? Had he done something wrong and she was trying to explain it to their son? He tried to think of anything he had done lately that had been large enough that would warrant such a situation, but he could not think of anything. Not recently, at least. So that seemed fairly unlikely.

If Trunks' guess of a surprise party was accurate, then the woman had truly lost her mind. Not only was there no feasible reason for throwing him one, but as the boy so plainly said, trying to surprise him was a terrible idea. It was a great way to spur on an impromptu massacre. And surely the woman was not so insane as to think that it was a good idea.

As the prince continued to ponder what was going on, Trunks reentered the room. "False alarm," the boy casually said, plopping down in front of the television again. Without missing a beat, he snatched up his controller and continued through the temple he was working on.

"Hn?" Vegeta responded, eyeing his son. "What happened?"

"No biggie," the boy assured, his eyes glued to the screen. "Mom got worked up over nothing."

"Hey, get back here!" Bulma called out, chasing her son into the room. "We were having a serious conversation!"

Trunks snorted out, "No we weren't," he responded, not bothering to look up. "It wasn't anything."

"It was!" Bulma angrily yelled out.

"No, it wasn't," Trunks sighed, pausing his game again. Flipping over, he glanced over at his father. "She was trying to give me that 'Your Father was a Super Villain' talk."

Relaxing slightly, Vegeta flipped his book back open. "Hn," he responded, sitting back and resuming his book.

Flabbergasted, Bulma stormed into the room completely. "What the hell?" she shouted. "This is something that we really need to talk about! As a family! This is important!"

"Yeah, but I already knew Dad was a super villain," Trunks informed his mother. "And I know he wasn't just one of those guys who wants to take over Earth. He used to take out people by the planet full, and he didn't exactly object to the job. Then a whole bunch of crap happened, and now he doesn't do that anymore." Quirking an eyebrow at his father, he sent the man a taunting smirk. "You know, that we know of. What he does on his days off…"

"Trunks!" Bulma cried out. "How do you even _know_ these things?"

Shrugging, Trunks rolled over again and grabbed his controller. "Mom, it's not that hard. Especially when Dad flat out tells me about it."

Bulma shot her husband an angry look. "You _told_ him?" she hissed.

Rolling his eyes, Vegeta closed his book once more. "It's not like I gave the boy a fully detailed account," he informed her, "but yes, I gave him the information that he would need to know."

"When?"

"Last year," Trunks told his mother, scowling as he came across a harder enemy. "After the amusement park. Damn, how do you beat this guy?"

"Fire spell," Bulma told her son, glancing quickly at the screen before. "And what the hell do you mean you two already talked about it? Since when do the two of you actually talk?"

"Since Goku asked if Dad was going to go on another killing spree when I was only three feet away," Trunks casually said, using the technique his mother gave him. "Yes! Burnt toast! Thanks Mom!"

Still flabbergasted, Bulma approached her husband. "Vegeta," she pushed, trying to keep her voice too low for her son to hear, "why?"

Rolling his eyes, Vegeta got to his feet and signaled for his wife to leave the room with him. He, frankly, did not give a damn whether or not his son overheard the conversation. However, the woman had expressed the wish to keep it private from the child, and while he may not have understood why she wished to do such a thing, he did understand the hell that would follow if he did not comply. As soon as they had entered the kitchen, Bulma again asked, "Why?"

"Why not?" the prince responded. "I fail to see how lying to the boy would serve him."

Bulma shook her head. "That's not what I'm asking and you know it. And before you start all your usual crap, stuff it. I'm not here to fight with you, I'm not here to get mad at you, and I'm sure as hell not here to blame you for anything. I just want to know what prompted you to tell him."

"Why, so you could see if it was the same thing that prompted you?" Vegeta countered. "You wanted to pull him away privately to have the same damn talk."

With a huff, Bulma shot back with, "I asked first!"

"Since when have I cared about that?"

Bulma had to suppress the urge to scream. Normally she loved the playful verbal sparring match with her husband, but she was genuinely concerned about what would have gotten him to talk about his past with his son. Vegeta did not talk about his past with anyone but her, and even those moments were few and far between. While she did not really want to tell Vegeta her reasoning, but compliance to his request was definitely the fastest way to get him to bow to hers.

Letting out a long sigh, Bulma shrugged one shoulder. "Trunks is getting older," she honestly told him, "and I was worried that if we didn't tell him until he was an adult, then finding out could be, well, brutal for both of you. I figured the sooner I talked to him about it, the better."

"Then why did you not want me there?" the prince challenged.

Again, Bulma sighed. "I was afraid that if I talked to him about it with you in the room, it was going to get really awkward. And I wanted him to have a chance to process the rough idea of your, shall we say, _colorful_ past before he had the urge to ask the first questions that popped in his head. But mostly it was the awkward thing."

Vegeta considered her reasoning and gave a very small nod. He did not believe it was necessarily the best course of action, but at least it had nothing to do with a lack of faith in him. And after all they had been through over the past decade, that lapse of judgment seemed exceedingly mild. Pushing away from the wall he was leaning on, Vegeta began to return to the room from whence he came.

"Hold the phone!" Bulma shouted, lunging forward and grabbing his arm. "That still doesn't tell me why _you_ told him!"

With a roll of his eyes, Vegeta turned and faced his wife. "Kakarot's a moron."

"Well duh," Bulma responded. "Tell me something I don't know."

Chuckling, Vegeta went on. "Approximately a year ago, I took the brat over to the little idiot's house and your moronic friend asked me if I was feeling better now that I wasn't possessed and killing people anymore. The boy heard, and he had questions. I answered them well enough for him to be adequately informed and spared the, how was it you phrased it? The _colorful_ details."

Bulma raised an eyebrow at her husband. "Goku asked that with the boys in the room?"

"No, he waited until the front door was closed," the prince clarified. "However, the imbecile apparently cannot figure out that sound can travel through an open window."

As Bulma began to laugh, Trunks hollered out, "Hey, I know you guys are talking grown-up stuff that I don't actually care about, but since you're in the kitchen, can someone bring me food? I can't pause here, and I'm not letting this dragon get back up if it kills me!"

Laughing again, Bulma gave her husband a smile. "Aw, he sounds just like his daddy!" she teased.

"Hardly," Vegeta snorted. "I don't ask."

"Oh, that's true, you just demand," Bulma giggled. She stepped up to her man and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Of course, sometimes I suppose your demands aren't all that unreasonable…"

As the gap between them closed completely and their lips met passionately, another shout came from down the hall. "No, no, no, no, no!" Trunks shouted. "I know what you're doing when you two get quiet all of a sudden, and there will be no wrestling in the kitchen if you ever want to see my face in it again!"

The parents pulled apart from one another, but while Vegeta looked annoyed, Bulma looked amused. "Guess we shouldn't tell him about his birthday last year, huh?" she giggled. Calming down slightly, her look became more serious. "How did he take it?"

Shrugging one shoulder, Vegeta replied, "As well as could be hoped. He avoided me for a week, decided he would rather be training than avoiding me, asked if I was sure I wasn't going to randomly go around killing people, and life went on."

"_That's_ what that week was?" Bulma gawked. "I thought maybe he'd hit his head during training! God, I wish I knew that was why he was acting so strange…and that's why he kept referring to the freezer as 'icebox' for three weeks!"

Before Vegeta had a chance to answer, Trunks entered the room. "You people take too long," he told his parents. "Dragon's dead, I'm still hungry, and Dad still used to be evil. Now, if we're all done stating things that I know, can I _please_ get some food?"

With a smile on her face, Bulma began to grab the fixings for a snack for her son. "And you're okay with your dad being an ex-super villain?"

Trunks grabbed a muffin out of the tray on the counter. "Like I told Dad," he informed his mother, taking a bite, "as long as he isn't doing it now, it's cool. Besides, I actually have something in common with Marron besides pathetically limp hair."

As Bulma began to defend the genes she had passed on to her son, Vegeta made his way out of the kitchen. "Hey!" the heiress called out. "Where are you going?" When the only response given was a particularly lecherous grin, Trunks groaned and shuttered slightly, dropping the rest of his snack on the floor.

"And you two thought knowing Dad used to kill people was going to scar me…"


	24. Tag

Bulma put her phone down and made a little note on the calendar. "Okay," she said with a smile, "my next ultrasound appointment is going to be next Wednesday."

Across the living room, Vegeta rolled his eyes. "And you're telling me this because…?"

"Vegeta!" the heiress admonished. "This is another chance to get a picture of the baby!"

But the prince hardly seemed impressed. "Listen, woman," he casually informed her, "you have already done this procedure twice. The first time you did it, you returned with a black and white image that looked like a porch light that had blown out, and the second one has me questioning if you raised Zarbon from the dead and mated with him, because that was clearly a seahorse, not a Saiyan, in that picture."

With a frustrated huff, Bulma glared at her husband. "All babies look like seahorses when they're at that stage!" she insisted. "Come on, Vegeta, I know you didn't really do this stuff when I was carrying Trunks, but I was really hoping you'd be at least _somewhat_ interested in _this_ kid!"

"I am interested!" the prince quickly defended. "I simply fail to be interested in vague images that make me question the species of our offspring!"

While a part of Bulma very much wanted to argue about the true beauty of the images that she had produced, she did understand why he found them more weird than awe inspiring. He had been noticeably absent during a large part of Trunks' development, and the true nature of pregnancy was still foreign to him, and she could be sympathetic to that. She herself had made similar comments during her first pregnancy.

"Look," she explained as calmly as she could, "I know that the last few looked like something from a bad horror movie, but I'm far enough along for the next one to actually look like a baby. Why don't you come with me for this one?"

The prince seemed to blanch slightly at the very notion. "Are you seriously proposing that I accompany you to a cramped waiting room full of pregnant females for the sole purpose of seeing a warped image of what I can only hope will someday look like a child?"

Bulma bit down slightly on the corner of her lip. "Okay, maybe you wouldn't do well in the waiting room…and there aren't any windows in the exam rooms, so you can't fly up and get in that way…" Her narrow blue eyebrows drew closer together as she tried to find a solution, but nothing was coming to mind. "I just really think you should be there, Vegeta. Not just to see the picture, but to hear the heartbeat. You don't know how amazing it is to hear that sound, and I really want to be able to share that with you."

"I can sense the child's energy," Vegeta pointed out. "I fail to see how hearing the heartbeat is going to be any different from the first time I could detect the energy."

"Yeah, I guess," the woman responded with a reluctant sigh.

At her motion, Vegeta rolled his eyes. He knew that tone only too well, and he knew that ignoring her request completely was going to result in more trouble than it would be worth. However, the notion of being in that waiting room, with all those expectant women, really did leave him feeling uneasy. Females were difficult to predict at any time, but impregnated ones were an impossible game of chance. Anything could set them off, and the last thing the Saiyan wanted to do was end up with an infuriated room full of females aimed at him. His wife would never let him live it down…

Suddenly, an idea struck him. "Lay down," he commanded, approaching her.

"What?"

"Lay down," he instructed again.

As his hand made its way underneath the hemline of her shirt, a wicked smirk crossed Bulma's face. "Oh, so that's what you want to do?" she said in a husky tone. "Hmm, we haven't done it on the couch for a while. But I think we might have an easier time if we use the armrest to…"

"Not that!" Vegeta interrupted, clearly exasperated. "Now lay the hell down!"

"Geez, what's got your panties in such a twist?" the heiress grumbled, acquiescing to her husband's request. "Okay, okay, I'm down! Now what the hell are you doing?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Shut up for a minute, will you?"

"Why? What are you going to…"

"Shut up!"

While Bulma did huff, slouch, and stick her tongue out at the Saiyan before her, she did keep her comments to herself. Once she was quiet, Vegeta rolled her shirt up to the top of her swollen belly. Bulma set a few pillows underneath her head, propping it up to allow her to watch whatever it was that her prince was doing. Remaining silent, Vegeta placed his palm flush against the flesh and closed his eyes. He drew in a deep, calming breath, and pressed slightly against his wife's midsection.

"Whoa." The heiress was caught slightly off guard when a soft flow of energy ebbed its way across her flesh. Suddenly, she was aware of what he was doing, and her eyes shot in an instant from his hand to his face.

His eyes were still closed, but there was something odd about his expression. His lips were apart but his teeth were together, and his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he slid his hand in small circles around the belly. Though he was trying to keep it contained, it was clear to his wife that he was amazed.

"Show me?" she softly asked. The prince gave a barely discernable nod, and opened up his mind to his woman. Bulma gasped and closed her own eyes as the image entered her own mind. Using his own energy with a Doppler effect, Vegeta was able to map out a perfect image of their unborn child. As he moved his hand around, he was able to see everything, from every angle. Up and down, circle after circle, a flawless form of the baby played out in both of their minds. Slowly, Vegeta narrowed is focus.

Bulma smiled. "There," she softly said. "That's the heartbeat."

And it was. Ever so softly, the gentle pulse of that still forming heart pressed back against his energy, echoing its strength. It fed directly against his skin, and the sensation ran from his palm and his fingers all the way back to his spine. It was an amazing sensation, a far cry from anything the man had every experienced before in his life. Rolling around inside his swollen mate really was an echo of life. The energy he had sensed months ago, but that heart…there was something different about feeling it, something indescribable. It no longer seemed as though the child simply existed. It was _alive_.

With her eyes still closed, Bulma let out a content sigh and began to rub the top of the swell. "That's your daddy," the heiress whispered to her belly. "Go say hi."

From inside the womb, the child extended a leg out, and gently pressed a foot against the hand. Vegeta's eyes were open and wide instantaneously. "You can command the child around already?"

"No!" Bulma laughed, grinning from ear to ear. "That's not me, it's you! I think that the pressure and the energy are waking the little one up." With another chuckle, she lay her head back down against the pillows. "Not even born yet, and she's already Daddy's little girl."

"She?" Vegeta asked incredulously.

"Check for yourself," Bulma sighed with a smile, enjoying the sensation of her daughter trying so fiercely to connect with the man reaching out to her. "We're having a little girl." When she got no response, she cracked a blue eye open and peered at her lover. "Vegeta? Yoo-hoo! You still with me over there?"

Vegeta blinked before making eye contact with the woman. "Hn?"

Propping herself up slightly more with her elbows. "Too busy playing pat-a-cake with the princess to hear me?" she gently teased.

"I was not!" her husband quickly defended.

"Please!" Bulma returned with a laugh. "In case you somehow missed this, I can feel it when Baby Girl tries to kick her way to the outside world. Those are my innards she's playing with, after all. It's okay, Vegeta, you don't need to be shy about it."

"I am not!"

"It's okay!" the heiress insisted again. "Look, I'm used to all of this, but if you want to keep playing around with her, by all means, go right ahead." She reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a magazine before adjusting herself into a comfortable position. "Really, take all the time you want. I'm not going anywhere." As she settled back, Bulma could not help the grin that was spread wide across her face. Nothing had ever made her so happy as watching Vegeta's fascinated face as he truly connected with their daughter for the first time.

Only part of her mind was focused on what she read, most of it focused well on the movements around her midsection. Vegeta was moving his hand around and applying pressure in differing amounts, seeing exactly what would get the girl to press back. Sometimes a hand reached out, sometimes a foot, and sometimes more than one limb came forward. Over and over again, he encouraged his daughter to respond to him, and he was amazed every time he felt her answer.

/

Four hours later, a magazine flew at the Prince of Saiyans. "God damn it, Vegeta, I've had to pee for half an hour! Let me up!"

"In a minute!" the prince snapped.

"Vegeta, it has been four hours!" the heiress roared. "My back is sore, I'm unbelievably hungry, and if you don't let me up in the next thirty seconds, I swear that I am going to pee right here on the couch. Now let me up!"

But Vegeta did not let her up, continuing instead with his little game of tag with his unborn child.

From her position on the couch, Bulma kicked out at her husband. "What are you doing with the girl, training her?"

"Just one more form!"

Bulma's eyes widened. "Are you freaking kidding me?" she hollered. "You're trying to teach kata to a kid so young that her age is technically in the _negatives_? This is ridiculous! Now get off me or I'm never letting you touch me again!"

With a disgruntled noise, Vegeta did reluctantly move, getting to his feet. As his wife wiggled her way off of the couch and up, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. The girl had been remarkably responsive to him. Every move he made, every touch that went past, every wave of energy after the first few minutes had gotten a direct reaction. Not even born yet and she had taken to him completely. He was not so foolish as to believe that the girl would remember the motions that they had gone through. It had simply been fun to take her through the motions. Though it may have only been his imagination, it really did feel as though his daughter had been eager to play with him.

It was the most incredible experience he could remember having.


	25. Coming Out of the Closet

Trunks walked up and down the hallway, his hands clenched tightly behind his back. It was a ridiculous request, there was no way he could ask. They would laugh at him, they would yell at him, they would disinherit him. Even if he had normal parents they would disown him for such a thought, but his parents? He would be lucky to escape with his life!

The five year old turned down toward his bedroom, but only managed to make it three steps before freezing with fear. No, he could not go back there. That was where the problem was in the first place. Maybe there was somewhere else he could go. Maybe he could hide in the living room or the kitchen or the rec room. Maybe there was some place he could go to wait for his problem to simply go away on its own…

/

"Good lord, is he seriously still out there?" Bulma grumbled, barely lifting her face from her soft pillow. "It's almost one in the morning!"

Beside her, Vegeta tried his best to ignore the woman. She was building that tone that always led to a request, followed by an order, followed by a fight, followed by sex. As much as he enjoyed that last step in the process, the prince was too exhausted from a brutal training session to feel the fight to be worth it. All he wanted at that moment was to fall asleep and stay that way for at least four hours, and the first step was ignoring the blue haired brat.

"Something must really be bothering him," the heiress went on, sitting up slightly higher. With a grunt, she turned and looked at her lover's shoulder blades. "Someone should really go help him."

_It's a trap_, the prince quickly reminded himself. _If I tell her to do it, she knows I'm awake and will make me deal with the boy. Don't say anything, don't move more than necessary, keep breathing steady…_

Bulma let out a soft sigh. "I'm soooo tired though," she whined. She slowly lay back down, nuzzling her face blissfully against her soft pillow. "After all, I've got that loooong meeting in the morning. I need to get a lot of good rest if I'm going to have the energy for it."

_Sucks to be you._

"And you know," the woman sighed, closing her eyes, "if I don't have any energy for the meeting, there's no way I could have energy for anything else _after_ the meeting."

_Don't fall for it, don't fall for it, don't fall for it…_

Frowning, Bulma cracked one eye back open. Usually the promise of sex in exchange for a favor worked fairly well on him, but like all things in life, it was not a sure thing. It appeared that the evening was offering a rare miss for her best shot. She knew perfectly well that he was awake and could hear her, but he was not going to get up.

"Fine," the heiress grumbled. She got out of the bed, deliberately throwing the blankets back hard enough to remove them from the both of them on her way. While she certainly loved her son, and would do anything at all to keep him happy and safe, midnight runs were not fun. Like most mothers before her, sleep was a necessity of life that had virtually disappeared. Over the years, as Trunks had started sleeping through the night, she had managed to get more and more of it, but the past several nights had sent her mind right back to his infancy days.

Still upset with her lover, Bulma opened their bedroom door all the way, allowing the hall light to flood in and onto Vegeta's face. "Serves you right!" she called out as she left.

_Worth it._

Walking down the hallway, Bulma quickly found her young son as he headed down the stairs. "Honey?" she called out. "What's wrong?"

Trunks slowed down, but he did not come to a complete halt. "It's nothing, Mom."

"Trunks," the heiress softly said, coming around in front of the boy, "you're wandering the halls at one in the morning. That means that something's not okay. Now we did this last night and the night before, too, sweetie. You haven't told me what's bothering you yet, and I can't help you until you tell me." She wrapped her arms around him in a tender hug, gently asking, "What's bothering you?"

The little boy paused for a moment, seriously contemplating telling her. After all, she was his mother, and mothers could make anything better. But the problem he had just did not seem like one that his mom, no matter how awesome she was, would be able to fix. "It's nothing, Mom. I'll go back to bed."

Bulma frowned, pulling back to look at her son. It was the same routine they had done for the past few nights, and she was starting to get concerned. He wandered the halls, she would try to talk to him about it, he would insist that everything was fine, and he would escort himself back to his bedroom. _Gee, I wonder which solitary, paranoid, insomniac parent he got this from_, she sarcastically thought. Determined, she grabbed his shoulders and smiled at him. "Well, tell you what. Since sending you back to your room has only gotten you to walk around more, why don't you come back with me to my room?"

Trunks went rigid in his mother's grip. "That doesn't seem like the brightest idea you've ever had, Mom," he honestly told her.

"Nonsense," Bulma dismissed with a wave. "One night of good sleep will probably do you wonders."

Raising a purple eyebrow, the child asked, "Did you forget that Dad's in there, too?"

Bulma let out a small huff. "You know, if he'd wanted a vote on how to handle this, he should have gotten up himself. He who stays in the bed is he who's stuck with the outcome. Now come on, young man, I'm not taking no for an answer." Both of them were well aware of how Vegeta would likely react to such a scenario. That was exactly why Bulma offered it. It was not a kind strategy, but Bulma figured it was worth the gamble to getting her son to explaining what his problem was.

"But Mom…"

"No buts, mister!" his mother commanded. "Either you tell me what the problem is or you're coming back with me. Take your pick."

Trunks scowled. "You're evil."

"Yes, I am," she calmly answered. "Now what's it going to be, young man?"

The five year old sighed. "Those are my only two choices?" he pitifully asked.

"Those are the only ones," she replied with a smile.

Trunks looked down the hall, glancing from his door to that of his parents. It had to be a trap she was setting him up for. She was very good at setting them, and he was still too young to be able to avoid them most of the time. "I really can just go back to my room…"

"Not unless you tell me the problem," his mother firmly said. "Now, it is one in the morning, and we're both tired. Whichever you pick, do it quickly."

Another look down the hall, and the little boy sighed. "I'll go back with you."

Bulma's left eye twitched at the answer. Whatever was bothering Trunks, it had to be enormous if he would rather face the sleep deprived wrath of Vegeta over admitting to it. "Okay," she slowly answered. "Come on, then. Let's go back to the room I share with your father."

Trunks gulped, but refused to give up. That one eye twitch had told him clearly that his mother was not looking forward to that solution any more than he was, and maybe, just maybe, he would be lucky enough to have her cave first. It was a long shot, but it was all he had.

"Let's go," he nervously said.

The walk down that hall was the longest and slowest one either one of them had ever taken. It was truly remarkable how little each one could move with a step. It was only a few dozen feet that had to be traveled, but between the two of them, they managed to drag it out for several minutes. Each time they lifted a foot they hoped the other would fold, and each time the step was planted they feared more that the other would not.

After several agonizing minutes, they found themselves in front of the door. "Well, here we are," Bulma said.

"Yep," Trunks gulped. Trying to turn odds in his favor, he offered a modest bow and said, "After you."

Bulma's blue eyes widened. "No, that's okay," she informed her son. "Go on in."

"After you."

"No, you."

"No, you."

"No, you."

"No, you."

"No…"

Suddenly the door flew open, starling the two blue eyed Briefs. "That's it!" Vegeta shouted. "I am sick of _both_ of you! Woman, you get in here now. Boy, to your room!"

Regaining her composure, Bulma approached her lover and pulled him by the arm. "Something's bothering him and I am not going to bed until I find out what it is," she hissed. "Now I don't care how grumpy you are. It's been three nights in a row!"

Vegeta glared at the woman. "Third strike, you're out. Now get in bed," he growled at her. Turning, he grabbed his son by the back of the neck and firmly directed the boy back down the hall. "March!"

Trunks barely managed to keep his wits about him as his father steered him. "Um, I can go on my own…"

"Clearly, you cannot," his father interrupted. Without easing up his grip for a moment, Vegeta got his son down the hall, in the room, and on his bed. "You will inform me immediately what the hell is disrupting your slumber so that I can know what you keep disrupting _my_ slumber." With one last shove, the boy was flattened on the bed.

"It's nothing…"

"_Now_, boy!"

The five year old squirmed uncomfortably on his bed. Suddenly he found himself wondering which was going to get him in more trouble: the truth or a denial? Unfortunately for him, his father was not a patient man, and that telltale growl meant that he was out of time. Dropping his eyes to the ground, Trunks mumbled something incoherently.

"Speak up, boy!" his father commanded.

Still leaving his eyes on the carpet, Trunks quietly muttered, "The closet."

It took a significant amount of willpower for the pureblooded Saiyan to keep his ever shortening temper in check. "Do you mean to tell me that the entire household has been lacking sleep for three nights because of a sub-room in which you store your clothing?"

Trunks rubbed his arm nervously, and he crossed his legs on the mattress. "It's not the room," he quietly admitted. "There's…there's something _in_ it."

"Other than your crap?" the prince bit out.

"Yes!" Trunks insisted. "Dad, there's something _alive_ in there!"

Pinching the bridge of his nose. "What the hell are you talking about?"

With the cat out of the bag, Trunks found himself slightly bolder than he had been a minute earlier. "I keep hearing something moving in there, and it keeps making this scratching noise."

"Then why have you not removed it?" Vegeta demanded.

"Well I don't know what it is!" Trunks insisted. "It could be a monster or something!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "First off, boy, the monsters that you speak of are nothing more than mythical fairy tale creations. They are not real. Therefore, they cannot be in your closet. And secondly, there is nothing indigenous to this planet that holds a higher power level than you do, so what the hell are you afraid of?"

Trunks blinked up at his father. "What does 'indigenous' mean?"

"It means native to the area," the prince bluntly bit out, "and that you need to suck it up, boy."

The five year old shifted his eyes to the closed closet door. "What do you think is in there?" he quietly asked.

"I neither know nor care," Vegeta replied. "Get off your ass, open the door, and look for yourself."

"But…"

"Do it!"

With a gulp, Trunks nodded. Slowly getting to his feet and turning on the light, the boy looked the shut door up and down. As soon as the light had flooded the room, the scratching had started again. Turning, the five year old shot him an _I-told-you-so_ look.

While Vegeta could certainly acknowledge that there was, in fact, something in the closet, he was not about to let the boy off the hook. No son of his was going to be too afraid to open things in his own damn room.

Nervously, Trunks locked eyes with his father. "You're going to be here, right?"

Again, Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and open the damn door, boy."

"But what if it's a…"

That was as far as the child got before he found his jaw in a vice-like grip. "Listen to me, boy. You are going to turn around, you are going to open that door, and you are going to see that there is _nothing_ in there that is _half_ as scary as _I_ am! Do you understand me?"

It was an odd sensation, but strange as it was, those words actually were a comfort to Trunks. His father was right. There was nothing in the closet, the world, even the _universe_, that was half as intimidating as the man holding his jaw. And no matter how terrifying Vegeta could be, Trunks knew that at the end of the day, the man had his back. When things really seemed down, he always managed to be there.

Boldness filled the child's soul, and Trunks smirked at his father. "Yes, sir!" he firmly answered. Brimming with confidence, he turned and marched soundly for the closet. After all, how bad could it really be?

Trunks flung the door open and jumped back, falling automatically into a fighting stance as he waited for some great unseen force to strike at him. What he was ill prepared for, however, was the black cat that practically flew past his ankles and out the bedroom door. "What the…"

"Oh, that poor kitty!" Bulma said, catching the frightened animal at the doorway. "You've been trapped in that teeny, tiny closet for three whole days?"

Vegeta glared at the woman. "I thought I told you to return to the room!"

"Have I ever listened to you?" she casually answered, still studying the frightened creature. "Poor little thing must be starving. And look at it! It's so scared that it's still shaking!" Cradling it gently, she turned a glare on her young son. "I can't believe you, young man! How could you do this to Kitty? Honestly, what is wrong with you?" With that the heiress walked away, offering comforting words to the still shaking cat in her arms.

Left behind in the room, Trunks stared, baffled, at the spot his mother had recently stood in. "What the hell just happened?" he asked.

"Your mother's question has been answered, you are no longer afraid of your closet, and it would appear that no one in this house is ever going to sleep," he father replied in a monotone voice. "Now either get in your bed or get in your training gear."

A little smirk appeared on Trunks. "Can we turn on the gravity?" he asked.

"Hn."

With a giddy little squeal, the boy was immediately deep in the closet that had terrified him only minutes earlier. As the boy dug around for his training materials, Vegeta rolled his eyes. It never ceased to amaze him how his son could be quaking with fear one minute and making absurd noises of joy the next. It convinced him once and for all that the boy was insane, that the woman was insane and had passed it on to the boy, and that he was the craziest of them all for putting up with it.

But, he supposed, that was why he stayed in the first place. After all, insanity was an awful lot of fun.


	26. I Will Not

"Trunks Briefs, you are going to be grounded until you're a little old man, do you hear me?" shouted the more than upset heiress.

His hands shoved deep into his pockets, Trunks stared at the kitchen floor beneath his feet. "It wasn't _that_ bad," he muttered.

Curiously, Vegeta poked his head into the room. He had just gotten out of the gravity chamber when he had heard the yelling, and he was more than curious to see what exactly his son had done to get himself in trouble that day.

_Whatever it was, it must have been impressive_, he thought with a smirk. _The woman doesn't get that huffy over the small stuff anymore._

"Trunks, you've been in school for a week. A week!" screamed Bulma. With each word, she shook her left hand as it clutched onto a stack of papers. "One week!" she again yelled, putting what Trunks thought to be too much emphasis on the time frame during whence he had committed his punishable deeds.

Giving in to his curiosity, Vegeta fully entered the room. "What did the brat do this time?" he asked, not entirely certain he wanted to know the answer. After all, anything that the boy did wrong was often blamed on him, whether or not it was actually his fault.

Angrily, Bulma shoved the stack of papers into her husband's face. "_This_ is what he did wrong!" she screamed. "This is the forced confessional that the teacher made him write!"

Vegeta snatched the papers from his wife's flailing hand, reading aloud the offenses listed.

"I will not skateboard in the halls…"

"I still can't believe that you got into this much trouble in one week, Trunks!" Bulma yelled again.

"I will not burp in class…"

Trunks simply shrugged his shoulders. "I still don't see what the big deal is," he muttered.

"I will not instigate revolution…"

Angrily, Bulma spun around so that she was once again facing the twelve year old boy. "Not that big a deal?" she shouted.

"I will not draw naked ladies in class…"

"Yeah," Trunks said, shrugging his shoulders again. "I mean, it's not like I did anything _that_ bad."

"I will not call the teacher 'hot cakes'…"

Bulma was having a hell of a time controlling her temper. "How do you not understand that you can't just do whatever the hell you want to?" she demanded.

"Garlic gum is not funny…"

"Oh, come on, Mom," the soon to be teenager whined. "It's not like you were flawless when you were my age!"

"I will not encourage others to fly…"

"Yes, but I managed to go to school for a few _years_ without getting in major trouble," the mother countered. "You apparently couldn't last a few _minutes_!"

"Tar is not a plaything…"

Again, the boy shrugged. "Maybe they've got stricter rules now than they did when you were a kid," he suggested.

"I will not Xerox my butt…"

The heiress shot a deadly glare down at her firstborn. "They do not have stricter rules now, Trunks."

"I will not trade pants with others…"

Sitting down backwards in one of the kitchen chairs and giving a half shrug, Trunks returned his mother's glare. "Well, I don't know what else to tell you."

"I will not do that thing with my tongue…"

"Do not take that tone with my, young man!" scolded the mother.

"I will not drive the principal's car…"

Trunks just rolled his eyes, no longer caring what his mother seemed to think of his attitude. "I still think you're blowing this way out of proportion here," he responded.

"I will not pledge allegiance to myself…"

Bulma stalked over to her son's chair, placing her foot on the bottom rung and tilting it in her direction. "Blowing this out of proportion?" she repeated.

"I will not sell school property…"

"Yes," the twelve year old said.

"I will not get very far with this attitude…"

"Trunks, your principal had to call me personally!" the scientist shouted, her anger getting the better of her.

"I will not grease the monkey bars…"

Forcing his chair back the way it had been, Trunks shifted his gaze over to the kitchen sink. "Oh, he'd call if I got a splinter in my pinky," he mumbled.

"I will not hide behind the fifth amendment…"

"But you didn't get a splinter in your pinky, now did you, young man?" the irate heiress demanded.

"I will not sleep through my education…"

With another roll of his eyes, the preteen got to his feet. "Oh, and because I'm not a goody-goody like Gohan was, I must be the spawn of Satan, right?"

"Spit wads are not free speech…"

"Don't you talk to me like that, young man!" Bulma yelled in a threatening tone.

"Nobody likes sunburn slappers…"

"Well that is what you think, isn't it?" the boy demanded.

"High explosives and school don't mix…"

Bulma took a step back, an almost surprised look on her face. "What makes you think that?" she asked.

"Underwear should be worn on the inside…"

Glaring hard, Trunks sneered at his mother. "I heard you talking to Chi-Chi!" he accused.

"I will not torment the emotionally frail…"

Bulma paled at her son's words. "What…what are you talking about?" she hesitantly asked.

"I will not spank others…"

The twelve year old turned away from his mother, suddenly disgusted by their conversation. "Like you don't already know what I'm talking about," he quietly said.

"I will not aim for the head…"

Slowly, the heiress approached her son. "Trunks, what's bothering you?"

"I will not barf unless I'm sick…"

With his back still turned, Trunks angrily replied, "You and Chi-Chi talk all the time about how Goten and I aren't as good as Gohan is."

"I saw nothing unusual in the teacher's lounge…"

"Well, maybe you're not as _calm_ as he was at your age," Bulma said, "but it doesn't mean that you aren't as _good_ as he is."

"I will not conduct my own fire drills…"

Slowly, Trunks began to turn around. "Does that mean that I'm not in trouble?" he hopefully asked.

"I will not spin the turtle…"

"Not a chance in hell, boy," Bulma stated, sounding suspiciously like her husband.

"I will not snap bras…"

Trunks threw his arms over his head in anger. "Oh, come on!"

"I will not fake seizures…"

"Sorry, mister, but I can't let you get away with this unpunished," Bulma said, a slight chuckle in her voice.

"This punishment is not boring and redundant…"

Pouting, Trunks leaned himself up against the kitchen counter. "I still say that you're overreacting to all of this."

"I will not bring sheep to class…"

"Overreacting?" Bulma repeated, what little humor she had held long gone.

"I will not bury the new kid…"

Giving yet another eye roll, Trunks stuck his tongue out slightly. "Yeah, that's a great way to get info from me, Mom. Repeat what I just said."

"Coffee is not a drink for kids…"

Bulma did not appreciate that response at all. "You just upped the sentence, Trunks."

"I will not eat things for money…"

"Well, if I'm going to be grounded until I'm an old man anyway, then extending it by a week shouldn't mean anything," he countered.

"I will not yell 'she's dead' during roll call…"

"Do you ever want to see Goten again?" the heiress threatened.

"The principal's toupee is not a Frisbee…"

Trunks just snorted at that threat. "Yeah, because we all know that Chi-Chi isn't screaming at Goten for the same stuff right now."

"Goldfish don't bounce…"

"Somehow," Bulma responded, "I doubt that Goten managed to get into quite as much trouble as you did."

"I do not have diplomatic immunity…"

Defensively, Trunks shifted his weight to the front of his feet. "What, so now you think _Goten_ is better than I am?"

"I will not charge admission to the bathroom…"

"I didn't say that," Bulma stated.

"The cafeteria deep fryer is not a toy…"

Still glaring, Trunks asked his mother what she was talking about.

"I am not authorized to fire substitute teachers…"

Bulma slowly approached her little boy. "What I'm saying is that Chi-Chi was not pulled out of an international meeting for a multi-billion dollar contract when the principal called her!"

"My homework was not stolen by a one-armed man…"

"So you're an overachiever," Trunks said, trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

"Organ transplants are best left to the professionals…"

That answer hardly appeased the irritated mother. "Trunks, if you could have _just once_ behaved yourself, we wouldn't be here right now!"

"The pledge of allegiance does not end with Hail Satan…"

Again, Trunks pushed himself up against the counter. "I still don't see why you couldn't just keep home schooling me!"

"Beans are neither fruit nor musical…"

"Because I wanted you to have a normal life!" Bulma cried.

"I am not the reincarnation of Sammy Davis, Jr. …"

Trunks threw his arms over his head in frustration. "Give it up already, Mom! I'm not going to be normal!"

"I will not dissect things unless instructed…"

"But that doesn't mean that you need to stand out as much as you do," Bulma countered.

"I will not whittle hall passes out of soap…"

The preteen stalked over to the refrigerator, throwing the door open. "Right, Mom. Be gifted and perfect, but don't let anybody know you're alive."

"Goten won't morph if I squeeze him hard enough…"

"I didn't say that either!" the blue haired heiress shouted, stamping her foot.

"Adding 'just kidding' does not make it okay to insult the principal…"

Trunks snatched a bottle of chocolate milk off of the top shelf before slamming the door shut. "Then what are you saying, Mom?" he demanded.

" 'Bagman' is not a legitimate career choice…"

Bulma walked over to where her son was, grabbing her own drink from the cold appliance. "I'm saying that you could be respectful of the rules that are set for you, young man!"

"Cursive writing does not mean what I think it means…"

"But why?" Trunks demanded. "The rules don't stop the other kids from calling me a freak, so why should they protect anyone else?"

"Next time it could be me on the scaffolding…"

Hesitantly, Bulma put her diet soda down on the table. "The other children call you a freak?" she softly asked. This was new information to her.

"I will not strut around like I own the place…"

"Why wouldn't they?" the boy cried out, his voice cracking slightly.

"The good humor man can only be pushed so far…"

Slowly, Bulma closed the distance between herself and her firstborn child. "Is it because you're half Saiyan?"

"I do not have the power of attorney over first graders…"

Trunks just rolled his eyes at his mother's question. "Yeah, Mom, I thought I'd start the school year by announcing to everyone that I am heir to the throne of a near extinct alien race."

"Nerve gas is not a toy…"

Bulma shyly looked away for a moment. "I guess that was kind of a stupid question to ask," she relented.

"The boy's room is not a water park…"

"Hah!" was the only response the twelve year old would give.

"Extreme wedgies are unhealthy to children and other living things…"

Grabbing her drink, the heiress took a gulp. "So why did they call you a freak?" she asked again.

"I will stop talking about the twelve inch pianist…"

Scowling, the young prince crossed his arms. "Well, to start with, they say I look like a girl."

"I am not certified to remove asbestos…"

Nodding slightly, Bulma took another sip of her drink. "The purple hair, right?"

"The truth is not out there…"

"Lavender," the boy corrected. "Purple is the color of royalty. Lavender is the color of getting picked on."

"I am not licensed to do anything…"

"Trunks, just because your purple hair got you called a girl does not mean that you can do this crap!" snipped out the heiress.

"I will not hide the teacher's Prozac…"

Finishing off his own drink, Trunks tossed the empty container across the room and into the trash can. "They also call me a Momma's Boy."

"A fire drill does not demand an actual fire…"

Bulma had to stifle a laugh at that one. "You? A Momma's Boy? I mean Goten, sure, but you?"

"Rudolph's red nose was not caused by alcohol…"

"See?" shouted Trunks. "When they do something to me, you just laugh, but when _I_ do something, I get in trouble!"

"Pain is not the cleanser…"

"Trunks," Bulma said, a warning in her voice.

"My butt does not deserve a website…"

Trunks wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"I will not demand what I'm worth…"

Bulma finished off her own drink, crunching the can in her hand. "No, young man, it isn't."

"I will not file frivolous lawsuits…"

"How?" the boy demanded.

"'The President did it' is not a valid excuse…"

"What they did was stupid, Trunks, but _this_," she yelled, waving in the direction of the forced confessional, "is crossing the line!"

"It does not suck to be you…"

Once again, Trunks flopped backwards into one of the kitchen chairs. "Oh, you're just saying that because the principal called you on it."

"I cannot absolve sins…"

"No, Trunks, you'd be in trouble for this no matter how I found out," Bulma insisted.

"Loose teeth do not need my help…"

Trunks rested his chin on top of his hands as they rested on the back of the chair. "If that old coot had called about _me_ calling someone a Momma's Boy, we'd be having this exact same talk."

"Friday's are not 'pants optional'…"

"But you'd only get in trouble of a weekend with that!" shouted the exasperated mother.

"Making Goten cry is not a science project…"

Trunks just rolled his eyes again, muttering the words, "Yeah, right."

"I am not my own long lost twin…"

Bulma assumed her earlier position with her foot on the bottom rung of the chair, but her son used his weight to keep her from being able to tilt it. "I don't know where you get these ideas, Trunks," she sighed, growing suddenly tired.

"I can't see dead people…"

The twelve year old slid off of the chair, causing his mother to stumble backwards as the chair finally tipped over. "You taught me most of it," he pointed out.

"I did not invent Irish dancing…"

"Trunks," Bulma sympathetically said, "I understand how hard it can be to fit in when you're a member of this family."

"There was no Roman god named Farticus…"

Trunks huffed and looked away. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"Shooting paintballs is not an art form…"

Bulma placed a hand on her son's shoulder. "I really, really do."

"Silly string is not a nasal spray…"

Trunks quietly looked up at his mother. "How would you know?"

"I was not forced to do this against my will…"

The heiress knelt down slightly and smiled at the boy. "The other kids made fun of me, too," she admitted. "I used to be the class freak."

"Hillbillies are people too…"

"I don't believe it," Trunks responded.

"I am not the new Dalai Lama…"

Bulma smiled a little brighter. "I really was. And you know what?"

"No one cares what my definition of 'is' is…"

"What?"

"I will not scream for ice cream…"

Bulma wrapped her arms around her son and pulled him in to a hug. "If you talk to me when this stuff happens, I can help you come up with _other_ ways of dealing with it."

"The girls in my class do not 'got back'…"

Trunks hesitated for a moment before leaning in and returning the hug. "Thanks, Mom."

"I will not sell someone's kidney on eBay…" Vegeta turned that last piece of paper over, making sure that he had read the entire thing. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the four pages of confessions in his hands as he slowly turned to face his son. "One week of public school and you've done this? You're better than that, boy!"

Trunks hopped back a bit, startled by his father's sudden outburst. While the elder prince had been reading the list, the younger one had somehow forgotten that his father was even in the room. Challenging his mother was one thing. The worst she could do was restrict privileges. Challenging his father was suicidal. That man controlled his training, after all.

"Dad, I can explain!" he began, earning an annoyed cry from his mother.

Vegeta tossed the papers back at the boy, a smirk on his face. "I was expecting at least ten pages," he said, turning to leave the kitchen.

As Trunks smiled, Bulma stomped her foot. "Hey, wait a minute!" she shouted. "Isn't he going to get in trouble for any of this? I mean, you're not seriously going to let him challenge authority like this, are you?"

Not even bothering to turn around, Vegeta simply called out, "Trunks, you're grounded for a week for getting your mother in a bad mood. Now haul ass to the gravity room"

Looking desperately from one parent to another, hoping to find a little more compassion that he knew he didn't deserve, the twelve year old was only met with his father's back and his mother sticking her tongue out at the man, saying the words, "You're missing the point!"

Trunks walked away with only one thought crossing his mind.

_I wonder what I'm going to do on Monday…_

/

Note: What can I say? I went on a Simpson's bender over the weekend and got inspired. You've got to admit, that list transitions fairly nicely!


	27. Shrill

Trunks raced down the hallway as fast as he could, his hands pressed aggressively against his ears. He had to get to sanctuary, and he had to get there fast. If even a few more minutes went by without seeking appropriate shelter, he was truly convinced that he would die. Faster and faster he ran, just praying that he would make it to safety in time. As he rounded the corner, he saw his salvation and was so happy he nearly cried. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…"

"Oh no you don't," his father snapped, having just opened the door to the gravity room. "This is _my_ spot. Find your own!"

"I can't hear you!" the boy hollered. Just barely clearing his father's grasp, Trunks slid into the training grounds and got as deep into it as he could. "Yes! Victory!"

Vegeta's eyes narrowed dangerously as he stalked toward his son. "Why you little son of a…"

"Before you throw me out," the boy pleaded, "please listen to me. If you let me stay, I'll give you anything you want. I can give you money!"

"You get all your money from me," his father pointed out, clearly not amused.

Trunks could feel the sweat forming along the back of his neck, but he refused to give up. "I'll do all the chores in the house for a month!"

Again, his father was not amused. "You conning the little idiot into doing tasks that I do not handle anyway is hardly adequate for bribing me. Now get out!"

The boy looked around the stark room, desperately looking for any inspiration at all that might be able to help him. "I'll get you…I'll get you…damn it! How do you bribe a guy who doesn't _like_ things?"

"You don't," Vegeta bluntly answered. "Get the hell out."

Letting his pride drop completely, the child rushed forward and grabbed on to his father's leg and refused to let go. "Please don't make me go out there, Dad! Please! I can't take it anymore! I haven't slept in three days! I barely get to eat! You have to let me stay here, Dad, you _have_ to! Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please…"

"Would you shut up?" his father bellowed. "And get the hell off of me!"

"Not until you promise to let me stay!" the boy shouted back, tightening his grip as his father tried to pry him off.

Vegeta growled as he tried to liberate his leg, already at the end of his temper. However, Trunks could be a tenacious little bastard when he was desperate, and the boy was clearly in a desperate mood. If the elder prince wanted any hope at all of salvaging his training grounds for their intended purpose, there was only one way to get it quickly. "Fine!" he hollered. "As long as you are here to train, you can stay. But the second you stop, your ass is out of here!"

"Yes!" the boy cheered. "Oh, Dad, you're the best!"

"Shut up and start your warm ups," his father growled.

The little prince did not need to be told again. As long as it meant he could stay in that room, he would do anything and everything that was asked of him. After all, _anything_ was better than being forced back out.

/

Bulma walked back and forth through the kitchen for what felt like the millionth time, cradling her two month old daughter in her arms. "I know, honey, I know," she cooed. "You're just having no fun at all. But don't you worry, sweetie, it'll pass soon enough."

Her mother entered the room, carrying a tray with a near empty pitcher of lemonade and several plates with sandwich crusts on them. "Oh, the poor dear. She isn't doing any better?"

"No," Bulma sighed, her fatigue showing through as she rocked her child. "The doctor said it will probably be about a month before it clears up."

"Poor thing." The grandmother placed the tray on the counter before turning to her clearly worn daughter. "It's no fun being a colicky baby. I bet if she were old enough, she'd probably be asking for a drink."

Bulma's blue eyes narrowed dangerously at her mother. "I sincerely hope and pray that you meant that as a joke, but just so I can sleep at night, promise me you are not going to give alcohol to any of my children for any reason at all."

"Oh, you're not sleeping at night anyway," the blonde teased. She cooed at her granddaughter and tickled the child's tummy. "And where are my son-in-law and my grandson?"

"Hiding in the gravity room," Bulma grunted, trying her adjust her exhausted arms. "They've been in there for a few days. They must be desperate."

Her mother frowned. "That's not right," she chided. "They should be out here helping you and helping little Bra. Do you want me to go get them for you?"

But Bulma shook her head. "Nah, leave 'em." She adjusted the baby again before she went on. "Normally I'd be mad as hell at them for ditching me, but on this one I've got to give them a free pass. If there's one thing in the universe that is sheer torture for a Saiyan, it's a screaming baby girl. Vegeta and Trunks have practically had their brains liquefying out of their ears since the colic began. Honestly, I'm impressed that they lasted as long as they did before barricading themselves in the one soundproof room we've got in the residential side."

"Well, you would know," the older woman nodded. Continuing to play with her granddaughter, she asked, "Has anything helped her feel better at all?"

"Not really," the heiress glumly admitted, wincing as the girl let out a particularly shrill shriek. "I feed her, I burp her, I keep her moving, I've put on white noise, I've given her tummy time, I've given her time to herself, I've done every damn thing the doctor has suggested. I mean, they'll help a _little_, but she still screams bloody murder for over nine hours a day."

"My, oh, my," the blonde sighed. "Well, why don't I take her from you for a little while so you can get some rest? The ladies just left, so I'm free as a bird!"

Bulma gave her mother a tired smile. "That would be great, Mom. If her pattern maintains, she's got about an hour left on this run." As she prepared to hand off the child, she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. "Trunks?"

The boy had his hands clamped down over his ears as he staggered toward the refrigerator. "Don't mind me," Trunks shouted, trying to block out the crying. "I'm just getting a snack."

"How are you going to do that with your hands on your ears?" the blue haired scientist asked, still trying to soothe the screaming Bra.

Though Trunks had not heard his mother, he had just arrived at the same conclusion. The only way to grab anything would require leaving his ears unguarded, and he was not sure he would be able to tolerate that sound at full blast for even a few seconds. He stared at the appliance for a few seconds before stomping his foot hard enough to crack the floor as he shouted the words, "Damn it!" Not a second later, he stormed out of the room.

"Poor little guy," his mother sympathetically said. "Even I feel like the screaming's getting to me, and I don't hear nearly as well as he does. I can't imagine what he's going through right now."

"Well, at least we can help him out by getting the baby out of the kitchen," her mother counseled. "Come, dear."

The two women made it a few steps toward the doorway before Trunks returned with his father in tow, both pressing hard enough on their ears hard enough to restrict blood flow. Clearly, Vegeta had been recruited to figure out a way to grab food without dropping their hands, but the heiress was at a loss for how even her husband could accomplish that task. He was a talented man, but unless he was going to take the refrigerator out of the room using just his feet, it seemed unlikely that he would pull it off. Then again, between the ability to fly and remarkable coordination, the heiress supposed that there was a decent chance that the family food storage unit would be set up inside the gravity room by the end of the day.

Bulma watched in fascination as Trunks quirked an eyebrow at his father and Vegeta shot a glare in return. She had witnessed the act dozens of times before, father and son communicating with only their thoughts, but it was still a sight to behold. The only thing she had to go off of was their facial expressions, but from those alone she could tell that they were shouting at each other wordlessly. From Bulma's perspective, it looked like they were only getting deeper and deeper into a fight instead of getting any closer to a solution. They grew more and more aggressive until Trunks actually dropped his hands from his ears and screamed, "Oh, come on!"

Too late the boy realized that he had dropped guard on his ears, and his eyes grew enormous as he rushed to correct his mistake. He paused, however, as something dawned on him. "It's not screaming," he spoke in awe.

Bulma looked down at the baby in her arms, surprised to see that her son was right. She had been so caught up trying to decipher the conversation between her husband and her son that she had not noticed Bra's screams had tapered off into soft whimpers. "Oh, baby girl!" the mother praised. "Are you feeling better?"

Hesitantly, Vegeta lowered his hands as he warily eyed his daughter. Her shrieks had given him the Saiyan equivalent of a migraine since that whole colic thing began, and it was difficult for him to see her as anything more than a threat to his health and his sanity. But true enough, the child was no longer creating that torturous noise. "Hn."

As Bulma cooed over the child, her son and husband made quick work of what food was in the kitchen. After several days of nonstop training, they were both famished. For almost an hour, the family enjoyed their first quiet moment in weeks, each one of them savoring the lull, knowing it would likely not last long.

Soon enough, the boys were done. Vegeta got to his feet and sent his firstborn a look. "You may choose to stay out and rest, should you wish," he sternly offered, "but once I close that door, I will not open it again. You will be stuck out here for the duration."

Trunks bit down on his lower lip, considering his options. He was physically and emotionally exhausted, and desperately wanted a break, but if that time bomb in his mother's arms went off again, he could not be held accountable for his actions. In an attempt to stall, he dared to ask, "Can I just take a quick shower first?"

Vegeta saw right through his son's plea, but he let it slide. He, too, was worn and sleep deprived. He had secretly been hoping that the boy would bow out of training so he could return to his gravity room alone to take a quiet nap. However, his son could stall in a shower for two hours, and that would give him ample time to rest. "Very well," he conceded. As he began to leave the room, though, a familiar and dreaded noise began to rise.

Staring at his sister in horror, Trunks began to put his hands back over his ears. "You know, I don't need a shower that badly," he insisted.

Vegeta growled at his son and took a step deeper into the kitchen to grab him, but then it happened again. The crying died back down, and while the child was still fussy, she was significantly calmer.

A look crossed Trunks' face that was part joyous and part sinister. He approached her mother and gently took the babe from her arms, saying a soft, "Oh, this is too good to be true." The boy took his baby sister over to their father, and watched in fascination as she began to relax even more. Then he took several large steps back, not at all surprised to find the girl starting up again. Forward he moved, and the child calmed. Away, and she could not be consoled.

Bulma looked on, stunned at her son's revelation. "Oh my god," she whispered. "Vegeta, you're what helps her feel better!"

"Me?" the father balked. "Is she insane?"

"It runs in the family," Trunks softly laughed, continuing his game with the girl.

Slowly, the tired mother got to her feet. Offering her husband a kiss on the cheek, she took the child from her son and placed her squarely in the prince's resistant arms. "This is so wonderful," she sighed. "You're the only thing that can help her feel better, and the poor girl's been miserable. I don't know if it's your energy or your smell or what, but it's working. If you could just take care of her for a couple of hours, I really need to get some sleep." Another kiss was given, and Bulma was halfway out the door.

"Hey!" her husband hissed. "What sort of moron leaves an infant with _me_ and thinks anything good could come from it?"

"The kind that hasn't slept in two weeks since her darling daughter developed colic and her husband never got close enough for us to figure this out sooner," Bulma yawned. "Listen, it's just for a few hours, and you'll be fine. You don't even have to do anything. Just hold her. My mom'll be around in case there's anything that comes up. Good-night!"

Frantically Vegeta turned to where his son had been standing, hoping to hand the child off again, but the boy had made good use of his father's shock and run while he could. With a look of near horror, he looked down at the girl in his arms. Never before had he been left holding either of his children, and for good reason. He turned to find the blonde woman, hoping she could take over, but she, too, had made good her escape.

Once more he looked down at his daughter. She was staring up at him with those enormous, tear soaked eyes, as though imploring him to help her further. Nervously, he swallowed and offered her the only words he could think of.

"This can't possibly end well…"


	28. Communication Breakdown

"You are actually trying to kill me, aren't you?" the prince accused.

His wife sipped away at her coffee, unaffected by his actions. "Please," she answered in a mocking tone. "If I really wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead." She watched him open his mouth, but she preempted his next accusation. "You're right, I really am sadistic enough to drive you slowly and painfully insane so that your death could be that agonizing. But in this particular instance, I'm not trying to screw with your head."

Vegeta hardly seemed appeased. "You're always trying to screw with my head."

But Bulma simply offered an indifferent shrug. "Gotta stay entertained somehow. Now come on. It starts at two on Saturday, and we expect you to be there."

"Who the hell would _expect_ me to be there?" he countered.

Again, though, Bulma was unaffected. "Someone who knows you like I do would expect it."

"So, the psychotically deranged?"

"You got it."

The prince had to fight to suppress the groan. Why, oh why, did his children have to do things with humans? Humans wanted so much attention for so little work, and for some very odd reason that Vegeta had never understood, they did not think that any demonstration of skill, regardless of how poorly it was pulled off, deserved anything less than high praise. Apparently telling a child that their artwork looked like a regurgitated meal was not met well.

As such, he went out of his way to avoid humanity as often as possible. And the overwhelming majority of the time, he was quite successful at the task. However, if it was something that his offspring were directly involved in, and it was deemed important enough by the children and the woman to warrant his presence, he was usually trapped. He was still trying to figure out how they managed to get him to do such things, and had a sinking feeling that he would never hold an answer to that question.

But where he had begrudgingly gone to commencement ceremonies and the odd back-to-school night, the torture that lay ahead for the weekend was one he was honestly not certain he would be able to survive. "This is absurd," he informed his spouse yet again. "There is no way in hell I'm going to this!"

"Okay," Bulma calmly answered, taking another calm sip.

Okay? Since when did that lunatic ever say _okay_ to such a refusal? There was a trap. Oh, crap, there had to be a trap. "So, you are not upset with my decision to stay here?"

"Oh, no, not at all," she lazily drawled. "Why would I be upset?"

Yes, he knew that tone well enough. She was definitely going to be murdering him in his sleep.

"You just stay right here and train your little heart out," Bulma went on, swirling her beverage. "And when your little girl looks at you with those big blue eyes of hers, all magnified with her welled up tears, asking why her daddy wasn't there on her big day, you go right ahead and tell her that you think she's less important than push-ups."

"You know that's not true!" he snapped. "I am not refusing to go because she is not of importance to me, I am refusing to go because it is going to be two hours of tone deaf brats belting out your planet's pitiful excuse for music!"

"Okay," Bulma said again. "I understand. She won't, but hey, she's a twelve year old girl. They're just such a forgiving bunch at that tender age."

Vegeta let out a small huff and left the room, ignoring what remained of his own breakfast. The woman was right, his daughter would never forgive him after the fact for an offense like that. But maybe, if he was lucky, he could bargain in advance.

Cautiously, he approached the young heiress' room. Bra had only recently discovered the joy of adolescent mood swings, and it made her almost totally unpredictable. If she happened to be in a good mood, he could state his claim, and she would let him off the hook. If she was in a foul mood, half the house would be gone before his sentence could finish. He sincerely hoped that luck would be on his side, but that had never been the case before, and he was not particularly expecting it to change.

He knocked on her door, an action he only took when he knew he was going in for a tough negotiation. Though he did not show it on the outside, he was greatly relieved when his daughter opened the door and smiled up at him, greeting him with a simple, "Hi, Daddy!"

So far, so good. "There is something that needs to be discussed," he said in a matter of fact tone.

Bra frowned. "You're not coming on Saturday," she glumly figured out.

Well, so much for good luck. "Bra…"

"No. Whatever. Have fun training." And with that, she closed the door on his face.

A slight groan escaped Vegeta's throat. Had it been Trunks, he would have simply have walked in, even if it meant destroying the door in the process, and given an extremely blunt explanation. The boy would pout slightly, be lectured longer, pout a little more, and eventually cave. Twenty minutes later, everything would be fine and in the past.

But Bra was a radically different creature. Being blunt with her often resulted in a silent treatment that could go on for weeks at a time, and the girl could cause a lot more damage in a temper tantrum. Trunks certainly held more power, but Bra was more likely to use precision during a meltdown. No matter how worked up she was, that girl knew how to go for the proverbial throat. She would take her outrage out not only on the party responsible for ruining her mood, but on any other unfortunate creature that happened to cross her path as well.

Vegeta opted to take a little time and consider his strategic options before attempting to discuss anything with his daughter. After all, one wrong move on his behalf could end up with the entire household calling for his blood by the end of the day.

/

Bra arrived home from school that day in a foul mood. Hearing that her father had no intention of going to her concert had royally pissed her off, and the day had only gone downhill from there. She had left her math book at home, she had accidentally cracked her blue pen in her anger and gotten blue ink all over her green skirt, and worst of all, her older brother was sitting in her bedroom when she returned.

"Get the hell out," she snipped, launching her book bag onto her bed.

But Trunks just lazily swayed in her chair, a smug look on his face. "Pretending to be Dad does not make you intimidating."

The princess picked up a very sharp letter opener and glared hard at her brother. "How about telling you that if you don't get the hell out right now, I am going to ram this into the first body part of yours that is available to me?"

"Meh," Trunks dismissed. "A little intimidating, but not enough to get me to move."

Bra was ready to scream, but she knew well enough that when Trunks was camped in her bedroom, getting him to leave before he spoke his mind was virtually impossible without assistance. And as the only assistance with enough power to forcibly remove the boy was the reason for her bad mood in the first place, she knew that she was, to a certain extent, stuck. "Talk and get out," she commanded.

"See, you're pretending to be Dad again," he brother pointed out, "which is interesting, considering how pissed you are at him."

"Well, wouldn't you be?" she screeched at the boy. "I mean, do you even _know_ what he had the _audacity_ to say to me this morning?"

Trunks rolled his eyes and spun around in his chair. "I do, actually," he informed her. "In case you forgot, moron, my room is next to yours."

"And you're still defending him?" she shouted.

But the young prince let out an arrogant snort. "From what I heard, he didn't actually get the chance to do anything wrong."

Glowering, Bra demanded to know what her brother was implying.

"I'm not implying," he retorted. "I'm flat out stating that he said he needed to talk to you about something, you jumped to a conclusion, and the only other word he got out was your name. Did you even ask what he was there for?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Did he flat out say he wasn't going to show up on Saturday?" her big brother interrupted.

"Well, no, but…"

Once again, she was interrupted. "So why, exactly, did you slam a door in his face?"

Bra frowned. "Trunks, he was using that tone that says he's going to bail on something."

"Yeah, I get that," Trunks agreed, "but he usually only does a total bail if it's something that's not for one of us. You know, like when Mom invites people over or when you were really little and got invited to that birthday party that insisted that kids bring their parents and siblings with them?"

The young princess shuddered. "Yeah, I'm impressed Dad lasted as long as he did on that one."

"I'm impressed Mom lasted as long as _she_ did on that one," her brother laughed. "Remember when she called that woman an overstuffed sausage?"

"You mean right after Dad left and that cow made some comment about seducing him?" the girl giggled. "Oh, man, I thought Mom was going to go ballistic on that one."

Trunks nodded. "But," he said, using that 'I know more than you' big brother tone, "even though we all knew it was going to be a miserable experience, especially for a human hater like him, he still showed up for a while."

The younger sister groaned and flopped down on her bed, dramatically draping an arm over her eyes. "I blew it, didn't I?"

"Yep!"

Bra's glare was dark and intense as she shifted her arm just enough for her brother to catch it. "You know, you don't have to be so enthusiastic about this."

"Oh, sure I do," her brother teased, finally getting to his feet. "As the only level headed member of this family, it is my natural born right to make fun of the rest of you when you blow it."

"Level headed?" his sister balked. "Need I remind you of the time you…"

"No, no, that's quite unnecessary," Trunks chuckled, moving for the door. "I think we all learned a lesson today, don't you?"

As he left her alone, Bra frowned deeply. Looking back on it, she had overreacted. Her father had not actually said that he was not going to attend her performance, and even if he had, he probably had a reason. It might not be one that she would agree with, but she at least owed him the opportunity to explain. It was only fair.

"Damn it," she cursed. "I hate it when I'm not right!"

/

Saturday morning rolled around, but it seemed that no one in the Briefs household was talking to one another. Bulma and Trunks were staying uncharacteristically quiet, both hoping that it would force father and daughter to start talking. So far, the strategy was not working. In large part, it was failing because Vegeta had been noticeably absent for twenty-four hours, and no one knew what to say about it.

At a quarter to one, the three remaining members climbed into the family car and made their way toward the auditorium. Bra stared at her lap the entire time, barely playing with the black case in her lap as she wondered just what she had done. Ever since Trunks had talked with her, she had realized more and more that she really had been unreasonable with her father. Yes, there was a chance that he had been planning to bail, but she had taken that chance and managed to turn it in to a certainty. If he had even come in to the residential area during the night, he had done it without any of them noticing.

Tears began to form in the corner of the princess' eyes. She and her father had minor disagreements in the past, but never had they been in an honest to goodness fight. And never, ever, had her daddy not been there for her, at least in some way. It was not always with his presence, but even when he held no intention of showing up to something, she had always had a note or a small gift to hold on to, letting her know that he was thinking of her. But there was no note left behind, no small gift to tide her over. She had checked her room, all of her pockets, and even her case, hoping to find any sign from her father. But there was nothing.

Bulma turned off the engine and sighed. She did not understand what, exactly, had caused the rift between Bra and Vegeta, but it was clearly much deeper than she had given it credit for. And while Trunks had informed her that Bra had started the fight, Vegeta was clearly the one refusing to let it go. And she was not happy about it.

Leaning over, she kissed her daughter on the forehead. "Alright," she said, her voice far more cheerful than her actual heart, "it's time for you to get going. After all, you need to get good and warmed up for your performance!"

Bra silently nodded her head and got out of the car, listlessly closing the door behind her. Bulma and Trunks watched as the twelve year old girl forlornly walked for the stage door. As soon as the girl was in, Bulma turned around and shot her son an intense glare.

"Before you tell me you don't know where he is," she informed him, ice lacing every word, "let me remind you that I know damn well you can sense him, so long as his heart is still beating. So unless you're about to tell me that your father managed to die this morning without me figuring it out, you had sure as hell tell me where he is."

Trunks huffed and slouched against the seat. "Mom, I'm not a tracking system," he grumpily informed her.

"Yeah, actually, you are," his mother countered. "Where is he?"

"Around," Trunks bit back. "Look, what do you want from me? You want me to figure out where he is and then to try to wrestle him over here? Even if I somehow managed to magically get the raw power needed to even _hope_ to beat him, I sincerely doubt that dragging him kicking and screaming into an auditorium is going to make Bra feel better at all. So can we just go inside and do this?"

Bulma was not at all happy with the tone her son was using with her, but she could admit that he had a point. Trunks being able to locate Vegeta was a useless skill when there was no way to force Vegeta to return. And putting Trunks in that position of responsibility was not fair. However, she was starting to get worried. While Vegeta used to pull disappearing acts all the time, vanishing for a few days only to mysteriously and quietly return, he had not done so in years. And from what she and Trunks had been able to ascertain, the tension between father and daughter hardly warranted such methods.

She would have to worry about the roots of the problem later, though. Bra was already backstage, getting warmed up, and it was time for Bulma and Trunks to park the car and find their seats for the show. They knew they were still fairly early, but there was nothing nearby that would only take thirty minutes to do.

Bit by bit the auditorium filled, and Bulma began to grow more anxious as she looked at the empty seat beside her. There was a very real part of her that had been expecting her husband to quietly show up and act like nothing had happened, but as they got closer to show time, she was starting to truly doubt.

"Mom, relax," Trunks instructed from her other side. "We're here for Bra, remember?"

"I know," Bulma sighed, still looking at the empty seat.

Several minutes later, the lights dimmed and an announcer came out, introducing the middle school band and orchestra. The audience applauded as the curtain rose, revealing almost two hundred children and their instruments. The first few numbers were played by the band, and considering the fact that they were still middle school students and that many of them were new to music, they were not that bad. Not great, with the occasional squeaking clarinet or off beat trombone, but not bad either. Bulma was having a difficult time enjoying it, though, as her eyes were fixed on the glum looking girl in the orchestra.

The music director came out and spoke briefly about the program before shifting over to the strings. Bulma gave the empty seat one final forlorn glance, swearing bloody vengeance on her husband for his actions. However, as she turned away from it, she noticed Trunks looking up and smiling. "What is it?" she softly whispered. But Trunks simply nodded toward the ceiling with his chin, a grin on his face, before looking down at his sister.

On stage, Bra adjusted her sheet music as she watched the director approach. How could he miss it? How could her daddy not even talk to her about it? Why was he doing this to her?

Suddenly, her eyes widened as she felt something. As subtly as she could, she brought her eyes up to the catwalk. She had to squint, but there was no mistaking the image. Up in the rafters, behind the lights, was the unmistakable silhouette of her father pulling out ear plugs. She would later learn from Trunks that he had been there the whole time, keeping his energy low to stay hidden, and that his absence at breakfast and dinner had been because he had been in the auditorium, figuring out where to hear her, specifically, the best. Listening to the others for too long would have caused a splitting headache with his sensitive hearing, but he would not miss his daughter's first concert.

The baton rose and Bra brought her viola up to her chin, positively beaming. She should have known her daddy would come.


	29. Road Trip

It had seemed like such a glorious idea at the time. How could it not? Getting away from his troubles, no chance at paparazzi, traveling through the stars, it had seemed wonderful. Adventurous. Glamorous, even. His mind had come up with a picture perfect idea of what his travels through space would be like.

Oh, what a dream it had been. And that was exactly what it was, a dream. Because sitting there, in the ship three days into his journey, he was wondering just what had possessed him to suggest such a thing in the first place. He was a smart boy. He should have been able to figure out exactly what he had been getting himself into. But no, he just had to go ahead and dream of some grand adventure and convince himself that was exactly how the journey would go.

So there he sat, wondering where he had gone wrong. For three days there had been training, eating, sleeping, occasional very mild conversation, and more awkward tension than anyone should ever have to go through. Other than that, there was only boredom. He had so convinced himself that there would be nonstop action that he had not even bothered to bring a book. As such, the only one on board was the how-to manual his mother had created for their ship. It was boring and tedious and nothing but technical speak, but at that moment it was looking damn tempting.

He was trying his hardest to not sigh. He had made the mistake of making his boredom evident once, and he had spent the following twenty-four hours in the most intense training session of his life. High gravity, constant battle, no breaks for food or water. It had left him so drained that he had slept for almost an entire day after that. He had done a few shorter bouts of training since then, but he still felt tired to the bone. And bored.

"So," he attempted at the first meal of the day, "you said we're heading to a planet you're familiar with?"

"Hn," was the response he got. That tone was translated to a simple yes.

The boy swallowed the food in his mouth. "Is it one that you, uh…"

"Hn." Ah, that tone meant no.

"Good deal, good deal." A few more mouthfuls went through. "So, how do you know it?" He was hoping for a legitimate conversation, but he knew the odds were stacked against him. Anything would be savored, though, because they had four more whole days before they would land, and if he did not get some non-training based stimulation soon, he was going to scream.

When no answer came, the younger prince rethought his strategy slightly. Flat out talking was not going to get him anything, and while flattery could get his mother going, they immediately set up suspicion in his father. Insults would get a reaction, but he was not nearly bored enough yet to consider a beat down to be good entertainment. Perhaps, if he was unbelievably lucky, his father would instigate something. If not, then that insult fueled beat down might not look so bad after all.

Two more days flew by without anything new happening, and the cabin fever was driving him mad. His sleep schedule was way off. His appetite came and went without warning. His tolerance for just about everything had virtually vanished. And, worst of all, his form and technique were getting sloppy because of it. Those first few problems were annoying. That last one had a tendency to end with cuts, bruises, and the occasional hairline fracture. How had Gohan managed to do a two month journey through space at the age of six?

At the end of that day, Trunks had finally had enough. Something had to happen, and to hell with the consequences. With a boldness formed from his new form of temporary insanity, Trunks looked his father right in the eye and said, "You know what the absolute worst thing is about having you for a dad?"

The vein in Vegeta's forehead immediately looked like it was about to rupture, but he held his tongue. Before slaughtering his son, he would at least give the boy a chance to say his last words. After all, it was a common courtesy right before an execution.

"The absolute worst thing about having you for a father," Trunks daringly went on, "is that I don't have the right to complain about anything. I mean it. Anything. Ever. To any degree. I've got nothing. No matter how much I think something sucks, I still don't get to bitch about it because of you. You've been there and done that with _everything_. I think I'm tired from training, you've gone on week long battle campaigns. I think that you guys are too strict on me, you were raised by a warlord. I have to go to school, you were a child soldier. There's just no freaking comparison."

"It does not appear to be stopping you now," Vegeta bitterly pointed out.

Trunks raised his arms dramatically. "See?" he called out. "Even for complaining about complaining, I feel I have no right to do it!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously, Vegeta demanded, "Is there a point to any of this?"

"Yes!" Trunks shouted. "You are stifling my teenagehood! I mean I know all parents are supposed to have made mistakes and gone through things their kids have, but come on. You've taken every bad thing that could possibly happen to me to an extreme that will never be matched in my life. And that's a good thing, I know. I don't want to go through anything you may or may not have done at my age. I don't even want to know exactly what you did when you were my age. A little curious about it, yeah, of course, but I'm not looking for a tell-all. Look, the point is that teenagers are supposed to be able to bitch and moan about stuff, but there is nothing in this solar system that I could get in to that you haven't already done! Well, maybe not this solar system. The solar system we live in. I'm not even sure where this solar system is…"

When the teenager's sentence drifted off after that, Vegeta simply sent his son a cool look. "Are you quite through yet?"

Panting slightly from the rant, Trunks considered momentarily before answering, "I guess so, yeah."

"Good. Be ready for training in ten minutes."

Watching his father depart, Trunks shook his head. Apparently random outbursts of buried frustrations were not going to get anything interesting started either. Just how long had he agreed to go on this trip for?

/

As the ship landed, Trunks felt a level of tension like never before. Once again he considered the fact that his father would not exactly have a nice reputation out amongst the stars, and that there was more than a good chance that they may be met with hostility. What was the plan then? Would they fight? If they did, would people die? How had he managed to not bring it up in conversation before that moment in time?

"So," he nervously began, "um, what exactly are we going to do on this planet?"

"There are metals here that do not exist on the Earth," his father coolly replied. "Your mother is interested in seeing what properties they may possess and if there is a reasonable use for such a thing."

The teenager blinked, stunned. "Wait a minute," he balked. "We're running errands? We're going shopping for Mom? That's what we're doing?"

If looks could kill, the boy would have been dead before his sentence had finished. "You wished to travel through space," his father ground out. "You were the one that pushed to have us leave immediately. What, pray tell, did you think we would be doing out here?"

Trunks shrugged. "I don't know, something adventurous?"

"Such as?"

"I don't know!" With a sigh, he flopped against his seat. "I just always heard about all of you guys going off and doing things, and I wanted a piece of that! There was always excitement, you know? Hidden treasures and lost empires and evil armies and stuff. I thought there would be some of _that_ going on here!"

Vegeta shook his head. "If there is a specific treasured item you wish to take from someone, let me know what it is and we can talk about retrieving it. However there is nothing on the itinerary, and as I would wager that you hold moral beliefs against slaughtering people for the hell of it and instigating a good bought of chaos, then no, there is nothing particularly _adventurous_ for us to do."

As he undid his seatbelt, Trunks gave his father an uneasy look. It was no secret to him, or anyone for that matter, what the man used to do. But there had always been faith that such things were behind him, that the part of his life filled with endless bloodshed was over. He would always be a warrior, but he was no longer a murderer. That sentence he had just spoken, though, made a little part of the teenager begin to doubt. Would his father really be okay with the idea of starting a massacre just to pass the time? Or worse, if Trunks himself had seriously proposed such a thing, would they go for it?

Sensing what was on his son's mind, Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Give me more credit than that, boy. Even if you think that I would approve of such behavior, which honestly I am not entirely against, we still have to go back to your mother. There is no way in hell I would allow you to do something like that. She would never let me back in bed again."

"_That's_ what's stopping you?" Trunks gawked.

"Hey, it's stopping me. What more do you want?"

Trunks tried to look nonchalant about the issue, but something about it kept nagging away at him. Years earlier he had learned of his father's bloodied history, but even as a child he had been aware of the fact that it was far worse than he would ever truly know. Most of the time he sort of forgot about it. While he used to be a bad guy, his dad was his dad. It was usually as simple as that. On a foreign planet, though, things suddenly shifted in perspective. No longer was his father looking like a former villain who had reformed. He looked like a potential threat to the world they stood on.

And worse, the boy found himself almost morbidly fascinated with that idea.

"Okay, well, let's get one thing out right now," he nervously announced. "I am morally and ethically opposed to genocide."

Vegeta shook his head as he pressed the button to open the door. "No shit," he grumbled.

Trunks swallowed timidly. "Now, that being said," he shakily continued, "I was just wondering, um, well I wanted to know, well, uh…"

"Out with it, boy!"

One more anxious swallow. "If, say, you _were_ going to, uh, do that, what would you do?"

That certainly earned the boy a curious glance. "Excuse me?"

"Like, how would you start it?" Trunks asked, slowly finding his voice again. "And I want to repeat, for the record, that I'm morally and ethically opposed to the action. I just want to know how it's done. I'm curious. That's all."

It was odd to hear his son ask such a thing, even with the good boy disclaimer he attached. Trunks had always been a bit of a wild child, but never had he indicated that he even wondered about how to eliminate the life on a planet. "Are you certain that you wish to know this?" If the boy was truly interested, he would oblige without complaint. Of course the particularly gory details would be spared. Not for his son's sake, mind you, but his own. It was one of those offenses his wife would punish him forever for, and not in a fun way.

Beside him, Trunks nodded. "Yeah," he affirmed. "I know it's information that I'll probably, and hopefully, never use, but I do wonder how it went. Like, what strategies to you use when taking on an entire world? How do you even start something like that?"

Vegeta guided them from the ship. "It would depend on the advancements of the world," he clearly began. "For an extremely well developed world, for example, I would aim my primary landing site in the middle of one of the more solidified urban areas. Not a capital area, mind you, but a high ranking one. Often I would leave the ship before the dust cleared and carry it with me. Panic ensues immediately, and they bring out their own weaponry in hunt of a threat they can't find. I would wait a few hours before I would actively engage. It was fun to watch them start tearing themselves apart. They would forget that there had been a legitimate threat long enough for me to begin a real campaign. More often than not, I would get them to do half the work. They could slaughter each other in the most entertaining ways.

"For planets that are poorly developed," he went on, "it was a basic hunt and kill scenario. They would be too poorly organized to form a defense that would even be slightly amusing. Land wherever, use the scouter, find, kill, move on. There was usually nothing to draw out. Quite dull.

"Now many worlds fall somewhere between, like this one, or the Earth. They do hold some mild advancement, but they are hardly a fully developed world."

"Earth is decently well developed," Trunks defended.

Vegeta glared at his son. "How many humans have made it more than one planet away?"

The teenager paused as he counted it out. "Mom, Krillen…I'll count me and Gohan as one combined. We add up to one human…"

An eye roll ensued. "And using that pitiful excuse for math, you have still only managed to come up with three. Are you getting the point here?"

"Fine," Trunks relented. "It's a moderately developed world. Now what would be the strategy for something like that?"

"They could be the most fun," his father explained. "Mind you, these approaches are generalized and a matter of personal preference. There were many who addressed every world the same way, regardless of its nature."

"Bet they didn't last long," Trunks snorted.

Vegeta smirked and took to the air, his son following nearby. "The majority of them did not. But returning to the topic at hand, worlds like this one would often be the ones that I would take the most time on. They were not necessarily more difficult. They were simply often the most fascinating. Again the starting point would be in a more urban area, but more often than not we would leave that side of the planet immediately after that one area would be destroyed. Those worlds would often be divided into smaller factions, and never did I find one that worked in harmony under crisis. Even those that believed themselves ready for an annihilation caliber invasion would spend far too much time discussing it and not nearly enough time fighting it. I would linger on those ones longer because they also tended to not get fun until the third or fourth day. That, boy, would be the point where they would start actually organizing a counter attack. They never amounted to much, but I had fun where I could."

There was a part of Trunks that wanted to stop, but it was a small part and one he could silence easily. Even though it was an ugly topic, he had never, in his life, gotten his father to talk so much about anything. And it remained oddly fascinating to him. It was a chance he would likely never get again. "Hey, Dad?"

"Hn?"

"You're not going to tell Mom that we talked about this, are you?"

The elder prince let out a small snort. "Yes, I really want to spend the rest of my life forbidden from entering my own room. That was my plan. Idiot."

The teenager held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm just checking!" A moment of silence passed as they approached what appeared to be an active town. "Hey, Dad?"

"Hn?"

Trunks dropped his voice, ensuring that only he and his father would be involved in the conversation. "When we're not around people anymore, will you tell me some more? I mean, we've covered beginnings and broad strategies, but could you maybe walk me through a few? Not play by play, but, well, you know?"

Vegeta smirked. It would appear that the journey might not end up being so aggravatingly awkward after all.


	30. Against a Wall

"No, no, no, no, no," Vegeta grumbled as he marched toward the phone. It was the second round of ringing, and once again it was indicating that it needed to be picked up and that the woman was unavailable. He hated that damn phone. He hated the noise it made when it rang. He hated talking to people on it. He hated being in the room with someone who was talking on it. There was nothing, nothing at all, that he liked about that device. And that alone made it very difficult to not shatter it when he reached it.

"He better have done something damn wrong, and you better have damn good proof," he growled as a greeting.

The principal gulped loud enough for it to be transmitted over the phone. He had been dreading the phone call as much as anyone. "Sorry to interrupt your day again…"

"Not nearly sorry enough," Vegeta cut off. "Now what the hell is it?"

"Here's the thing," the other man nervously said. "There was a field trip today, one that you might be aware of? Well no one was hurt, thankfully, but there was an incident…"

The prince groaned and shook his head. He already knew exactly what the problem was. "I'll be there shortly."

In no time at all he was back in that damn office, the one his son was constantly being sent to. And true to form, Trunks was sitting across from the principal, awaiting sentencing. But that day there was a very major difference in the room.

Bra was there, too.

"Car. Now."

Neither of his children needed to be told a second time. They were on their feet and out of that school faster than the principal could order them to stay. "You can't just take them!" he eventually shouted, still trying to figure out how they left that quickly.

"Yes, I can," Vegeta informed the man. "They are minors, I am their father, they go where I tell them."

"But the property damage alone…"

"Will be discussed with their mother," the prince once again interrupted. "I am taking them. Now." Never one to care much about what a human thought of him, Vegeta turned on his heel and left as abruptly as he had entered. After all, there were children to be punished.

Their actions outside of the car were not helping either of their cases. "I called shotgun first!" Trunks shouted, shoving his sister.

"You did not!" the girl hollered back, shoving him harder.

"Did so!" He pushed her again, trying to use his body to block her as he entered the front seat. But in spite of her size, age, and comparative strength, Bra was not going down without a fight. With a flying dive she squirmed her way in front of her big brother, claiming the seat as her own. Angrily Trunks grabbed her by her collar and hauled her out, only for the girl to fly in once again. Once more he pulled her out, and he barely managed to stop her when she tried to dive in for a third time. They were grappling with one another when powerful hands clamped almost painfully on their shoulders.

"Back seat. Both of you."

The Briefs children instantly obeyed. There had been a part of them that was sure that as soon as they got cleared off the school campus, they would be fine. But if anything, they seemed to be in even more trouble. Their father was in a mood. Surviving the trip home was going to be iffy at best. Trying to increase their odds of survival, they both got in, buckled up, and sat silently. There were no turf wars in the back, no shouts that someone had crossed onto someone else's side. They were still, and they were silent.

When they reached the compound, their father did not even turn to look at them. "Go to your respective rooms now," he commanded. "You may not do anything."

They followed the order immediately, both knowing that that meant. Go to the room, close the door, and stand at the foot of the bed. Do not sit. Do not daydream. Do not touch anything. Any attempt to relieve tension or boredom would be caught, and their sentence would be doubled.

With great frustration the prince marched back inside. Dealing with the shenanigans of his offspring had not been on his agenda, and he hated having his routine interrupted. Just for that the children had to be punished. To what degree, though, was yet to be determined. Fully entering the room he had been summoned from, he caught the tail end of what had to be a long, long message from the principal of the high school. Violence, property damage, probable expulsion…

Screw punishing. They were dead.

Though temperamental as ever, Vegeta was aware enough of his anger to know that it would not be wise to confront the children immediately. He stomped his way to the gravity room, hell bent on working off his frustration until the woman was no longer working. After shooting a quick, angry message her way, he locked himself in the room. His children would just have to wait. And they damn well better not move.

/

"I'm going to kill them!" Bulma hollered upon hearing the news. "I will kill them with my own hands!"

"Been there, thought that," her husband answered. "But since you are hardly being literal right now, which solutions would you actually be open to punishing them with?"

Bulma angrily shook her hand. "I am so mad at them, I can't even think straight. What did the kids say in their defense?"

With a shrug he responded, "They were not exactly coughing up explanations. They were either bickering with one another or silent."

"What did the principal tell you when you picked them up?" she asked.

"I hardly waited around for him to discuss it," her husband snorted. As his wife seemed to be getting geared up to yell, he pointed out, "I was mad enough."

Bulma kept her temper in check. Her husband made the right call. Vegeta in a bad mood would have made the situation far, far worse if he had stuck around to listen to someone accusing his children of severe wrongdoing, let alone threatening to kick them out of school. "Well is there anything you can tell me that the jackass on the phone didn't?"

Vegeta nodded. "The brat and the little idiot had higher energy levels than usual prior to the incident."

Bulma blinked. "Goten was involved in this?"

"Partially."

"Crap, Chi-Chi must be having an aneurism right now." She shook it off, regaining focus. "Anything else?"

The prince informed her, "The girl joined them while the energy was up. That is all the additional information I have."

With a nod, Bulma pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed up the home of the third party member. "Hi Goku," she calmly greeted, "can you tell me anything about what happened at the school today?" She continued to nod along for a while, giving the occasional affirmative vocalization. After a little while she did pause before saying, "Focus, Goku. School. Goten. Trunks. Trouble." More nodding. "I see," she finally said. "Alright. Is that Gohan I hear in the background? Can I talk to him for a sec? Thanks." A pause for the transition, followed by, "Anything else you can add? And can you do it without talking about the dinner you're not getting a chance to eat right now?" Another round of nodding. "Okay. Thanks. We'll talk to you guys soon."

"Well?" her husband demanded.

Bulma sighed. "Apparently Trunks and Goten were arguing about something, which isn't anything new. And we both know that their energy tends to go up when they do that."

"Obviously."

Bulma kept talking. "Well, since today was the day Bra's class was visiting the high school for that play thing, our dear little princess apparently decided to wander off to find Abbot and Costello." When her husband raised an eyebrow, Bulma rolled her eyes. "Cultural reference. Sorry. She went after Trunks and Goten and she, shall we say, added fuel to the fire. Anyway, instead of venting stuff and then going on with their day, the boys got revved up more, one thing led to another, and they started physically fighting."

"Which is how they managed to take out a wall in the gymnasium," the prince concluded.

With a nod, Bulma agreed. "No one else was hurt, thankfully. But the school didn't believe that two empty handed boys and one little girl could take out an entire wall. They think that one of them was carrying something with explosive properties."

"And that is the basis of the threat of expulsion," Vegeta reasoned.

"Yeah." Bulma let out a tired sigh as she slumped against her chair. "According to the message, the only reason Trunks and Goten weren't arrested already is because no one has found any evidence at all that there was an explosive device or chemical on the scene. But the police are investigating." She glanced over at her husband and gave him a half smile. "By the way, thank you for not killing them when they tried to get in to question the kids earlier. You may not have exactly been civil, but you got the job done nicely."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. What is the course of action? I am unfamiliar with the proceedings of expulsion on this planet. Though I am going to assume that they are not nearly as severe as they were from our military academy."

"Probably not as intense," Bulma glumly agreed, "but they could still have serious consequences, especially given the terms of this one. This accuses them of having an illegal, dangerous substance on school grounds. Bra might get off comparatively easy, but there's a chance Trunks and Goten could get arrested for this."

"Shit," the father groaned.

Bulma nodded, rubbing her aching temples. "You're telling me. Now I can promise that they'll never have evidence that the boys had explosive parts at school because, well, they didn't have any. They probably tackled each other through the wall. But even if we get them off the hook for that, they're in trouble for getting in a fistfight."

"What of the girl?"

"They're not sure what role she had in all of this," Bulma sighed. "It sounded like they're planning to try to get her kicked out too, though." She shook her head. "Only our kids could go to different schools and manage to get threatened with expulsion for the same crime."

Vegeta's face remained neutral. "Understanding fully that we plan to kill them either way, I wonder what baring this could possibly have on the remainder of their lives. We both know that they cannot be found guilty of having explosives they did not have, and given that they are inheriting more than anyone else on the planet could dream of, is it really that big an issue?"

"For once, it actually is," Bulma glumly pointed out. "A mark like this on their records, especially Trunks', could make running the company harder, if not impossible. It would follow him for the rest of his life. And that's assuming they don't hammer Bra as hard as they could, too."

"But what is the problem?" her husband demanded. "There is property damage, yes, but the costs can easily be covered. And having seen that school, I am confident that they needed to fix it anyway. If anything they are getting a free renovation from us."

"I know, I know." The heiress sighed again. "Crap, I'm just trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to convince them that my kids actually are strong enough to take out a wall and walk away with nothing more than plaster dust on them."

Vegeta snorted. "You are joking, right?"

"Of course I'm not!" Bulma quickly responded.

The prince rolled his eyes. "For a self-proclaimed genius, you are an absolute idiot sometimes. Particularly when you are worked up, but in general, too."

Bulma glared at her husband. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Just show them!" he called out to her. "It is not that difficult, you lunatic. Take the children in, demonstrate their power, pay the damn school and bury it forever. Knocking out a wall is simple. Even Bra can occasionally do it unassisted."

Blinking, a small smirk crossed Bulma's face. "Now why didn't I think of that?"

"Because, as I stated earlier, you are a lunatic," Vegeta answered, an annoyed look on his face.

"Shut up," Bulma chuckled. "You know, I know you're on to something, but I think I've got an idea."

/

Goten squirmed in his seat before he leaned over to his best friend. "Are your parents sure about this?"

"You want to tell them otherwise?" the prince pointed out.

"Does telling either of them they're wrong ever end well for the person telling them?" the younger boy asked. Trunks' response was a cool glare. "Point taken," Goten sighed.

Bra shot the boys a look. "Shh!" she hissed. They were in a lot of trouble already, and she did not want to get in any more than she already was. She had never been in a lot of trouble before. In fact, she had barely been in mild trouble. As it was, she knew that one false move was going to get her dolls burned at the stake. And that was the threat from her father! Her daddy _never_ said things like that to her!

The three children sat in silence as Bulma began her lecture, with Chi-Chi chiming in from time to time. The principals from both the high school and the elementary school were there, along with the superintendent, two police officers, and the president of the school board. It had not been easy getting them to agree to meet, but Bulma could be very persuasive, something those people were rapidly becoming aware of. The mothers were strong with their arguments, but that was not what was keeping them in line. No, it was Vegeta, standing in the corner and watching them like a hawk, that kept them from moving. The moms went on and on, pointing out thousands of points and citing everything they could to ensure that their children would not be expelled. And Vegeta stood as the silent threat.

When closing statements had been made by the ladies, the superintendent scratched his beard. "Ma'am, I'm not quite sure how to tell you this," he slowly said, "but your reasoning for how that wall got broken, well…Mrs. Briefs, have you had a recent head injury?"

"I have to agree," Bra's principal agreed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Briefs, Mrs. Son, but are you really expecting us to believe that these children, including her," pointing to Bra, "are capable of such bare handed, raw strength?"

"We can prove it," Bulma coolly responded. "Have any other walls that are coming down anyway, since you're already renovating? I'm more than happy to pay for it."

The four school administrators huddled for a moment, whispering fiercely to one another, somehow unaware that every word they spoke was clearly heard by the other occupants of the room. It was difficult for the three young ones to keep their sarcastic comments to themselves, particularly the youths from the Briefs clan, but the evil eye was still on them from the corner.

"All right," the superintendent finally said, breaking the huddle. "Fair being fair, we will allow the children to show us this alleged strength. But they must agree to be checked for any devices that could be used to assist them. The search would be done by the officers, and with parents present, of course."

"For the boys, fine," Bulma agreed. "But you are not frisking Bra. She's eight years old. She doesn't need to go through that." Behind her she heard her firstborn make an indignant noise, and she shot him an icy glare. "You, kiddo, are theoretically graduating soon. You're old enough to be treated as an adult."

The urge to shout, "She started it!" was almost unbearable, but Trunk kept his mouth shut. He thought the fact that the major threat on Bra involved setting her toys ablaze was downright unfair in comparison. They were dangling a cut off of his trust fund!

Another whispered huddle, and the group from the school agreed. "Very well. Which of the boys will go first?"

"Trunks will." It had been difficult for Bulma to convince Chi-Chi to go along with the plan at all, and she knew making Goten go first would get the brunette in a tizzy that would not help anyone's cause. She had adamantly refused at first, refusing to allow her precious little boy to do anything that would show the world how different from them he really was. But Bulma, not caring quite as much if the world knew about Trunks and long since assuming the power would be outed in the end anyway, had insisted that she would make her own children go first in the hope that it would be enough to convince the school without making Goten show anything at all.

It was with great tension that the lavender haired prince stood. Trunks was not known for keeping smart assed comments to himself, and that entire day had been filled with moments that had been very difficult to suppress. If they did not get everything wrapped up quickly he was going to start talking, and that was just going to get him arrested and forced to rely on Goten to help him earn enough money for rent in a lousy studio apartment in a lousy part of town…it could not come to that! He needed that trust fund!

"What do you want him to do?" Bulma calmly asked, leaning back against her chair. "I maintain that he could take out a wall, since I'm already paying for renovations. In fact, we can fix up the entire district office, if you like."

The superintendent nodded. He got to his feet and tapped each wall in the room, making sure they were just as solid as he remembered them to be. Convinced that there was no way they were booby trapped, he selected one and pointed to it. "How about that one?"

Trunks looked at his mother. "How much are we talking here?"

Bulma looked over at her husband. "Thoughts?"

"Enough to blow out a section," he answered, "not enough to cause the whole wall to give way." If the woman got plaster in her hair, she was going to be bitching about it for a month.

Trunks nodded. Under his mother's orders, he was not to reveal the full extent of his power. Just enough to make the damage he and his best friend had caused look plausible. While his father had strongly objected to playing down strength, Bulma was able to convince him that it was okay. And Trunks was just fine never finding out how she talked his father into it. Pretending that it was taking a great deal of effort, he rammed his shoulder against the wall just hard enough to knock part of it out. "Ow," he fake winced. "I think I bruised my shoulder on that one."

His father growled at the display of weakness, and Trunks backed toward his seat slowly. Perhaps he had overdone the "Gee, I'm only human" bit…

/

"To be clear, I have not been disinherited, right?"

Bulma smirked at her son as she pulled the ice cream from the refrigerator. "Not today," she assured. "But don't worry, you still have plenty of time to do something stupid and get cut off." She looked over at Bra, who was making a mocking face at her big brother. "Same goes for you, missy."

Bra looked aghast at her mother's words. "What did I do?"

"You, my dear," the mother calmly explained, "were the one who taunted your brother until he was so mad that when Goten tried to talk to him, the boys ended up flying through the wall." She glanced at both of her children. "And just because you two did not get kicked out of school does not mean that you are going unpunished. Today we are having a brief celebration of victory over the fact that you maintained a lack of felony charges on your records. Starting tomorrow, your lives will suck."

As the little girl began to protest, Trunks slipped out of the room. His father had left earlier, and the boy felt like he needed to talk to the man. It did not take long to track him down, and Trunks nervously began the conversation. "So, um, I guess I screwed up."

"You guess?" his father coolly asked.

"Okay, okay, I know damn well that I screwed up," Trunks amended. "I wasn't keeping a cool head, and I let my kid sister get to me. And in public, no less. I should never have tackled Goten, and I shouldn't have let Bra get to me like that. I need to learn to keep my temper in check." Due to an urge to survive the evening, Trunks managed to end the statement there. Tacking on that his father might just have the shortest temper in the known universe, and that the man was sometimes only too easy to get worked up, would have certainly doomed the teenager.

The elder prince nodded. If the boy was expecting a teaching lecture, he was going to be waiting for a long time. As far as Vegeta was concerned, the matter was closed. The children had done something stupid, the situation had been controlled, and they were being punished. Case closed, move on with life, time to get back to training.

Trunks shifted slightly under his father's gaze, not entirely sure why nothing was being said. "So anyway, I just wanted to say, well, I'm sorry, and that I won't let that happen again." And with that the boy removed himself back to the kitchen, hoping that there was still some ice cream left for him.

Though Vegeta was hoping that he could finally get back to his schedule, he could sense his daughter approaching and knew she was hunting him. He resigned himself temporarily to fate and sat on the couch. "Out with it," he greeted as she entered.

Bra quietly crawled up onto the furniture and into her father's lap. She rarely did such a thing any longer. After all, she was a princess, and she was more dignified than that. But it had been a rough couple of days, and the urge to be comforted by her daddy was easily overriding that sense of pride. Silently she held on to him, taking comfort in the warmth of his body and the sound of his beating heart. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered. His silence urged her to go on. "I thought it would be funny to make fun of Trunks at his school. I thought that he might get mad, but I didn't think he was going to get that mad. I said mean things to him in front of other people. And it was mean for me to do that." Bra rolled slightly, looking her father in the eye. Her own blue orbs shone with tears that were threatening to fall. "I know I've gotten Trunks in trouble before, but never like this. I feel bad about it." Another roll, and she wrapped her arms around his body. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I know I disappointed you. I'm so sorry."

Wordlessly he lay a hand on the top of her head, and he held her for several minutes as she held him close. Several minutes later she sat up and gave him a sad smile. "Thank you, Daddy."

He offered a nod, and she, too, returned to the room with the ice cream in it. They would hate their parents come morning when their punishments were firmly dealt out, but for the time being, they were thankful. Criminal records had been avoided, children were aware of flaws and correcting mistakes, wife not mad at him. All things considered, mission accomplished.


End file.
